WWE Be the Booker: The Heist of the Century

WrestleWizard · Oct 2, 2025

It was the heist of the century. At the climax of WrestleMania 31, Seth Rollins committed the ultimate act of opportunism, forever changing the course of WWE history. This is where our story begins. Welcome to an alternate timeline where every decision from that moment forward is rewritten, exploring what could have been in the chaotic aftermath of that fateful night.

Hall of Champions History Database

Last Updated: Post–WrestleMania 31 (March 29, 2015)

WWE World Heavyweight Champion

Reign	Champion	Date Won	Event / Show	Previous Champion
1	Seth Rollins	March 29, 2015	WrestleMania 31	Brock Lesnar
Notes: In the "Heist of the Century," Seth Rollins cashed in his Money in the Bank contract during the main event between Brock Lesnar and Roman Reigns, pinning Reigns in the impromptu Triple Threat match to win the title. This begins the first reign of the BTB era.

WWE Intercontinental Championship

Reign	Champion	Date Won	Event / Show	Previous Champion
1	Daniel Bryan	March 29, 2015	WrestleMania 31	Bad News Barrett
Notes: Daniel Bryan captured the vacant championship by winning a 7-man Ladder Match, securing the one title that had eluded him in his career.

WWE United States Championship

Reign	Champion	Date Won	Event / Show	Previous Champion
1	John Cena	March 29, 2015	WrestleMania 31	Rusev
Notes: John Cena ended Rusev's undefeated streak and his year-long reign to capture the United States Championship on the grandest stage.

ChatGPT Image Oct 2, 2025, 12_28_48 PM.png

WWE Tag Team Championship

Reign	Champions	Date Won	Event / Show	Previous Champions
1	Tyson Kidd & Cesaro	February 22, 2015	WWE Fastlane	The Usos
Notes: The technically proficient duo entered the BTB era as the established champions, having won the titles a month prior to WrestleMania.

ChatGPT Image Oct 2, 2025, 12_24_07 PM.png

WWE Divas Championship

Reign	Champion	Date Won	Event / Show	Previous Champion
1	Nikki Bella	November 23, 2014	Survivor Series	AJ Lee
Notes: Nikki Bella began the BTB era in the midst of her record-setting, dominant reign as the top Diva in the company.

NXT Championship

Reign	Champion	Date Won	Event / Show	Previous Champion
1	Kevin Owens	February 11, 2015	NXT TakeOver: Rival	Sami Zayn
Notes: Kevin Owens captured the NXT Championship via referee stoppage after a brutal and personal war against his former best friend, establishing his ruthless dominance over the brand.

NXT Women's Championship

Reign	Champion	Date Won	Event / Show	Previous Champion
1	Sasha Banks	February 11, 2015	NXT TakeOver: Rival	Charlotte Flair
Notes: "The Boss" Sasha Banks won the title in a classic Fatal Four-Way match against Charlotte Flair, Becky Lynch, and Bayley, cementing her place as the leader of the NXT Women's division.

NXT Tag Team Championship

Reign	Champions	Date Won	Event / Show	Previous Champions
	Vacant	N/A	N/A	Blake & Murphy
Notes: Blake and Murphy were forced to surrender the tag team championships due to injury to Blake.

WrestleWizard · Oct 2, 2025

The Heist of the Century: A Look Back at the Night WrestleMania 31 Changed Everything

Every now and then in wrestling, a night comes along that just changes the game. A night that reminds you why you fell in love with this crazy world in the first place. On March 29, 2015, we got one of those nights.

Let's be honest, the build-up to WrestleMania 31 was… rough. The main event felt predictable, the fans were restless, and a lot of us were getting ready for a letdown. But then the sun started to set over Levi's Stadium in California, and something magical happened. Against all odds, WrestleMania 31 became one of the greatest 'Man-ias of all time, capped off by an ending so bold and so perfectly executed, we still just call it "The Heist of the Century."

So let's go back and remember the night that delivered in every possible way.

An Undercard That Had No Business Being That Good

You could just feel the energy from the get-go. The roster seemed determined to blow everyone's expectations out of the water, and it started with the seven-man Ladder Match for the Intercontinental Championship. It was a beautiful disaster. Just a chaotic collection of bodies and metal, with guys like Dean Ambrose and Luke Harper taking falls that made you wince. But in the end, after trading some absolutely brutal headbutts with Dolph Ziggler on top of a ladder, Daniel Bryan grabbed that white belt. Seeing the "YES!" Movement get that moment, and seeing the IC Title feel important again? It just felt right.

The hits kept coming. Randy Orton vs. Seth Rollins gave us a fantastic match, but let's talk about the finish. Because, for my money, it’s the single greatest RKO of all time. Seeing Orton launch Rollins into the air off a Curb Stomp attempt and then catch him on the way down was just jaw-dropping. It’s one of those moments that breaks out of the wrestling bubble and goes viral. How do you even practice that?

A Blast from the Past and a Mainstream BOOM

The middle of the show felt like pure fan service in the best possible way. We finally got Sting in a WWE ring against Triple H, and what started as a match turned into a time machine. Suddenly, DX was running to the ring, and who comes out to stop them? The nWo. Hogan, Hall, and Nash. Seeing DX and the nWo throwing punches at each other at WrestleMania was a surreal, glorious fever dream. Triple H got the win with his sledgehammer, but the handshake afterward felt like the real story—the official, final end of the Monday Night Wars.

Then you had the unstoppable U.S. Champion, Rusev, who literally drove to the ring in a tank, facing off against John Cena. It was a heavyweight brawl, but a little slip-up with Lana cost Rusev everything. Cena hit the AA, got the win, and handed the big man his first-ever loss.

And, of course, there was the moment that blew the roof off the stadium. When The Rock got slapped by Stephanie McMahon, you knew something was about to happen. But nobody expected him to walk over to the barricade, walk over to UFC Champion Ronda Rousey, and invite her into the ring. Seeing her judo-throw Triple H and put Stephanie in an armbar that looked way too real? The place just went nuclear. It was a jolt of mainstream electricity that made WWE feel like the center of the pop culture universe.

The Heist

And so, we got to the main event. Brock Lesnar, the monster who ended The Streak, against Roman Reigns, the guy everyone was ready to boo out of the building. The bell rang, and it wasn't a match; it was an assault.

Lesnar just mauled him. Suplex after suplex. He looked into the camera and growled, "Suplex City, bitch!" and an iconic catchphrase was born. But here’s the crazy part: Roman Reigns just kept getting up, smiling through a bloody mouth and asking for more. He took an unbelievable beating but started to fire back, hitting Superman Punches and Spears that somehow, some way, put The Beast down.

Both men were out. The stadium was holding its breath. And then we heard it.

That guitar riff.

For a second, there was confusion, and then a roar of pure shock. It was Seth Rollins. He was sprinting, flying down that impossibly long ramp with his Money in the Bank briefcase. He was cashing in. Right now. In the middle of the main event.

The place lost its collective mind.

Rollins kicked Reigns out of the ring, went for the Curb Stomp on Lesnar, but Brock caught him for an F-5. Just then, Reigns came out of nowhere with a Spear to Lesnar! With the Beast taken out, Rollins bounced up, saw his one perfect moment, and hit a Curb Stomp on his old Shield brother.

One. Two. Three.

Seth Rollins, the guy who lost his match earlier in the night, had just pinned Roman Reigns to become the WWE World Heavyweight Champion. He snatched the belt, scrambled back up the ramp, and held it high as the show went off the air, creating the most electrifying and perfectly chaotic ending in WrestleMania history. It was a magic trick, a brilliant swerve that turned a predictable night into an all-time classic.

WrestleWizard · Oct 4, 2025

WWE.COM PREVIEW: MONDAY NIGHT RAW, MARCH 30, 2015

The Architect Reigns: What Happens in the Aftermath of the Heist of the Century?

SAN JOSE, CA — The Grandest Stage of Them All has come and gone. The records have been set, the moments have been seared into history, but the landscape of WWE has been shattered into a million pieces. Last night at WrestleMania 31, the WWE Universe witnessed what can only be described as the Heist of the Century. And tonight, live from a sold-out SAP Center in San Jose, the aftershocks will rock the very foundation of WWE. The RAW after WrestleMania is not just another show. It's an institution. It’s the most unpredictable, raucous, and chaotic night of the entire year, where anything can—and usually does—happen. Careers are made, new faces arrive, and the battle lines for the coming year are drawn. After the events of last night, here is what the WWE Universe is buzzing about heading into a RAW that is guaranteed to be legendary.

Our New WWE World Heavyweight Champion: Seth Rollins

He called his shot. Seth Rollins, the self-proclaimed "Architect" of The Shield, orchestrated the single most audacious cash-in of his Money in the Bank contract in WWE history. As Brock Lesnar and Roman Reigns tore each other apart in a brutal war of attrition, Rollins saw his opening, sprinting to the ring to turn the main event into a Triple Threat Match. A Curb Stomp to Reigns later, and Seth Rollins stood tall, championship in hand, as WrestleMania went off the air. The Authority has its man back on top, but in a manner no one could have foreseen. How will Triple H and Stephanie McMahon react to the ultimate opportunist's master stroke? And speaking of the fallen, how will Roman Reigns respond to having his WrestleMania moment stolen from him at the one-yard line? But perhaps the biggest question of all... what happens when The Beast is awake?

An Unpinned, Unconquered, and Unleashed Beast

Brock Lesnar is no longer the WWE World Heavyweight Champion. But let one thing be crystal clear: he was not pinned. He was not submitted. He was not defeated. "The Beast Incarnate" took Roman Reigns to Suplex City, endured a valiant and brutal comeback, and was still standing when Seth Rollins made his move. Paul Heyman has always proclaimed his client to be the most dominant combat sports athlete in history. Now, that client has had his prize stolen by a thief in the night. A furious Brock Lesnar is a terrifying force of nature. What will happen when he and his advocate, Paul Heyman, address the WWE Universe tonight? Who will be the first unlucky soul to cross the path of the enraged, conquered conqueror? No one in the locker room is safe.

The Champ is HERE... and so is the U.S. Title

For nearly a year, Rusev was an unstoppable force, an undefeated colossus who held the United States Championship as a symbol of his dominance. At WrestleMania, that all came to an end. On the back of a tank and with unwavering patriotism, John Cena defeated Rusev to become the new United States Champion. Cena has reached the pinnacle of WWE time and time again, but this victory felt different. It was a mission statement. Now, as the standard-bearer for the United States Championship, how will Cena begin his reign? And more importantly, how will Rusev and the calculating Lana respond to the utter humiliation of Rusev’s first-ever pinfall loss? The Cold War is far from over.

First Title Defense: Bryan vs. Barrett is OFFICIAL

WrestleMania 31 kicked off with a spectacular Ladder Match that saw seven of WWE’s best Superstars risk it all for the Intercontinental Championship, but it was Daniel Bryan who stood atop the ladder, holding the one title that had eluded him his entire career. The leader of the YES! Movement has brought the people’s championship back to the people, and he will not have to wait long for his first challenge. WWE.com has learned that the former champion, the brutish Bad News Barrett, is wasting no time in invoking his rematch clause! It is official for tonight: Daniel Bryan will go one-on-one with Bad News Barrett for the Intercontinental Championship. Can Bryan solidify his new reign just 24 hours after his monumental victory, or will he get a dose of bad news from a vengeful brawler determined to take back what is his?

Icons, Legends, and Unfinished Business

WrestleMania was a night of icons. We saw Sting compete in a WWE ring for the first time ever, battling Triple H in a war that saw the nWo and D-Generation X collide in a moment straight out of a dream. Though "The Game" was victorious, what is next for "The Vigilante"?

The Undertaker returned from the darkness to vanquish the challenge of "The New Face of Fear," Bray Wyatt, proving that the Deadman is far from finished. Will we see The Phenom on RAW, or will he recede back into the shadows? And what of Bray Wyatt, who failed to slay the giant he so desperately sought?

And what about The Rock? The Great One, alongside UFC’s Ronda Rousey, stood up to The Authority and embarrassed Triple H and Stephanie McMahon on a global stage. There is no chance the Billion Dollar Princess will let that stand. What retribution does The Authority have planned?

The stage is set for the most explosive Monday Night Raw of the year. With a new champion, new challengers, and a locker room full of Superstars eager to make their mark, absolutely anything is possible.

CONFIRMED FOR TONIGHT'S RAW:

A Championship Celebration for the new WWE World Heavyweight Champion, Seth Rollins.
Intercontinental Championship Match: Daniel Bryan (c) defends against the former champion, Bad News Barrett.
Brock Lesnar and his advocate Paul Heyman will appear live to address the "Heist of the Century."
We will hear from the new United States Champion, John Cena.
The Authority promises to respond to the actions of The Rock and Ronda Rousey.
Plus, what surprises and new faces will emerge on the most unpredictable night of the year?

Don’t miss a second of the fallout tonight on Monday Night Raw, live at 8/7 C on USA Network!

WrestleWizard · Oct 10, 2025

MONDAY NIGHT RAW
March 30th, 2015
SAP Center | San Jose, CA

The screen flashes to life with the thunderous roar of over 76,000 people, cutting immediately to a grinning, dominant Brock Lesnar tossing Roman Reigns around the ring with a relentless series of German suplexes. The hard rock soundtrack pulses as the sequence repeats—another suplex, and another, with quick cuts to Paul Heyman’s ecstatic reactions at ringside. The footage slows to show Reigns, bloodied but smiling defiantly, just before he shoves Lesnar head-first into the steel ring post. The image suddenly shifts, focusing on a shocking stream of crimson pouring down Lesnar's face as the music intensifies. Quick cuts show a desperate comeback: Superman punches landing flush, a thunderous spear that shakes the ring, and a dramatic close-up of Lesnar’s face as he just barely kicks out before the three-count. With both exhausted warriors struggling to move, the stadium is jolted by the sudden, explosive blast of Seth Rollins's entrance music. The camera immediately cuts to the top of the entrance ramp, capturing Rollins as he bursts from behind the curtain, not with a walk, but in a full, desperate sprint. He flies down the ramp, briefcase held high like a weapon, his eyes wide with manic purpose as he cashes in, officially turning the bout into a Triple Threat match. In a dizzying, chaotic blur, we see Lesnar hoist Rollins for an F-5, only for Reigns to fly into frame with a spear that takes out The Beast. The final, decisive shot is a clean Curb Stomp from Rollins to Reigns, followed by a tight shot of the referee’s hand slapping the mat three times. The screen freezes for a split second on the indelible image of Rollins, screaming with manic joy, holding the WWE Championship high on the ramp as pyro explodes behind him, leaving the carnage of a stolen main event in his wake.

As the final image of the video package fades to black, the SAP Center is plunged into darkness for a split second before the driving guitar riff of "The Second Coming" blasts through the speakers, inciting a deafening, instantaneous roar of boos from the rabid post-WrestleMania crowd. Out from behind the curtain struts the brand new, undisputed WWE World Heavyweight Champion, Seth Rollins, but not before his personal security detail. Jamie Noble and Joey Mercury, J&J Security, emerge first, walking with a comical seriousness in their ill-fitting black suits, scanning the crowd as if expecting an attack at any moment. Then comes Rollins, the shimmering gold of the championship belt slung over his shoulder, a smug, utterly punchable grin plastered across his face. This is not the frantic sprint from last night; this is a slow, agonizingly arrogant victory lap. He swaggers down the ramp, taking his sweet time, his head bobbing with an unearned rhythm. He stops, makes eye contact with a fan booing him mercilessly, and simply laughs—a high-pitched, grating cackle that cuts through the noise. He lifts the title from his shoulder, not to hoist it proudly, but to cradle it like a newborn baby, polishing the front plate with his shirt before sneering at the audience. J&J scurry ahead to the ring, with Joey Mercury dutifully holding the middle rope open for him. Rollins doesn't just get in the ring; he makes a production of it, wiping his feet on the ring apron with theatrical flair before gliding through the ropes. Once inside, he practically scrambles up the nearest turnbuckle, not like a conquering hero, but like a gleeful goblin who just got away with everything. He thrusts the championship into the air, shaking it violently at the booing masses, his mouth agape in a silent scream of vindication before finally letting his music fade, leaving him standing in the center of the ring, bathing in a symphony of pure hatred.

(The deafening chorus of boos continues to rain down on Seth Rollins, who simply stands in the center of the ring, cradling his new WWE World Heavyweight Championship. He closes his eyes as if meditating, a sickeningly self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. He raises the microphone to his lips, but waits, letting the hatred build to a fever pitch before finally speaking.)

"Awww, listen to that! Just listen to all of you! That is the beautiful, beautiful sound of thousands of tiny little hearts breaking all at once. That is the sound of every single one of your hopes and dreams being snatched away, thrown on the ground, and Curb Stomped into oblivion by me! You were all so ready, weren't you? You were ready for your big, feel-good WrestleMania moment. You were ready for the valiant Roman Reigns to conquer The Beast and fulfill his destiny. But your fairy tale had a bad ending, and I am the author! You chant 'You Sold Out'? Let me correct you morons right now. I didn't sell out! I BOUGHT IN! I bought into a future that I designed, a plan that I created, and a reality that I now control. I bought into being the single most important person in this entire industry, and this... (he holds the title up so it glimmers under the arena lights)... this is my receipt. So boo me all you want. Your hatred is just confirmation that I did everything perfectly."

"For the last 24 hours, all I've heard is the word 'heist.' 'The Heist of the Century.' It’s catchy, I'll give you that, but it's completely inaccurate. A heist implies theft, and you can't steal something that was always destined to be yours. For a year, I held the Money in the Bank contract. My golden ticket. My master key. And I waited patiently. I watched as the neanderthal, Brock Lesnar, played with his food. I watched as the golden boy, Roman Reigns, absorbed inhuman amounts of punishment. It was Brawn versus Heart. A caveman against a storybook hero! It was a beautiful, brutal, and utterly predictable spectacle. And while they were playing checkers, throwing their bodies around with no regard for strategy, I was the only man in a stadium of seventy-six thousand people who was playing chess. I let the two bulls destroy each other, I waited for the perfect moment when they were both broken and spent, and then I simply walked down and put the king in checkmate. I didn't work harder, I worked SMARTER!"

"And let's be crystal clear about the two men I left in my dust. Roman... my 'brother.' You were so close, weren't you? You could feel the confetti on your skin. You were about to have your moment. But you forgot the most important lesson I ever taught you back in The Shield: I am the brains. I am the vision. I created you, Roman, and I can erase you. And last night, with one stomp, your entire career's defining moment was erased. Gone. Forever. And then there's Brock Lesnar. The Beast! The Conqueror! The ONE in twenty-one and one! Well, guess what, Brock? You're also the FORMER WWE World Heavyweight Champion! You and your loud-mouthed little walrus Paul Heyman can whine and complain and threaten to burn this place to the ground, but it won't change the facts. The fact is, your reign of terror is over. It wasn't ended by a spear or a suplex, it was ended by a single thought from a superior mind. My mind."

"So now I stand here before you, your undisputed, undeniable, and untouchable WWE World Heavyweight Champion. I am the standard-bearer. I am the future, and the future is now. There is not a single person in that locker room who can even think about lacing my boots. (He pauses, a smug, knowing look crossing his face as the crowd's boos get even louder) And I know... I know what every single one of you little keyboard warriors are thinking right now. You're sitting there saying, 'But Seth! But Seth! What about Randy Orton? Randy beat you last night!' (He lets out a loud, obnoxious, grating laugh that echoes through the arena) Oh, that? You mean the little exhibition match I had earlier in the evening? The warm-up? The appetizer before the main course? Let me explain something to you simpletons in a way you might understand. While Randy Orton was focused on winning one little battle, for one highlight-reel RKO that you'll all probably forget by next week, I was focused on winning THE WAR! So yeah, Randy won his little match, good for him. But I left WrestleMania with the only prize that matters! That RKO was a fluke, a lightning strike that means absolutely NOTHING in the grand scheme of my universe, because I am the champion and Randy... Randy is just..."

(BRRAAANG!)

(The iconic, deafening opening chord of Randy Orton's theme music, "Voices," hits, cutting Rollins off mid-sentence. The entire arena erupts as "The Viper" emerges at the top of the entrance ramp, staring a hole directly through the new champion in the ring.)

(Randy Orton soaks in the eruption from the crowd, a cold, predatory smile creeping across his face. He walks down the ramp with a slow, deliberate pace, never taking his eyes off the new champion. He slides into the ring, gets a microphone, and circles Rollins like a shark. The "RKO!" chants are deafening. Rollins, clutching his title, looks visibly unnerved, his previous bravado evaporating into nervous energy as J&J Security step slightly in front of him. Orton waits for the chants to die down before he speaks, his voice a low, menacing growl.)

"A fluke? Is that what you're calling it, Seth? A warm-up? An appetizer? It's funny, from my point of view, it looked a little different. See, from my point of view, at the biggest WrestleMania of all time, in front of the entire world, I faced you one-on-one. And from my point of view, I turned you inside out with what might just be the greatest RKO of all time. You can stand there and you can spin whatever narrative you want to help you sleep at night with that title in your bed. You can call yourself 'The Architect' and talk about your brilliant plans and how you won the 'war.' But here’s the thing about facts, Seth: they don't care about your feelings. And the fact is, less than 24 hours ago, I beat the man who is now the WWE World Heavyweight Champion. You can hide behind your two little mall cops here, you can polish that belt all you want, but you and I both know the truth. Around here, beating the champion puts you at the very front of the line. So I'm not out here to ask you for anything. I'm not here to debate. I'm out here to tell you... you owe me a championship match."

(Rollins lets out another one of his forced, high-pitched laughs, but it’s laced with panic. He pushes past J&J Security, getting nose-to-nose with Orton, his arrogance returning as he uses the title as a shield between them.)

"Owe you? OWE YOU? I don't owe you anything, Viper! You are living in the past! That match was business, an obstacle I had to overcome before I could enact my real plan. You are so shortsighted! You think winning one little match matters? This championship is what matters! It means I am the present and I am the future of this company, and frankly, Randy, you're just not in the picture anymore! Your time has passed!" Orton just smirks, unfazed. "The only picture I see, Seth, is the one from last night of you, flat on your back, looking up at the stadium lights after I planted you in the center of this ring. So you can talk all you want, but the question is, are you man enough to defend that title against the man who already proved he's better than you?" Rollins’ face turns crimson with rage. "I don't have to prove ANYTHING to you! I am the champion! I call the shots! And I'm telling you, you get NOTHING! You go to the back of the line with everyone else!"

(Music quickly shifts to Roman Reigns's thunderous theme as he appears, not on the ramp, but from his signature position within the crowd. Dressed in street clothes and wearing a grim, determined expression, Reigns descends the stairs, hops the barricade, and marches toward the ring, his eyes locked on the man who stole his WrestleMania moment.)

(Roman Reigns enters the ring and gets directly in Seth Rollins’s face, ignoring Randy Orton completely. J&J Security instinctively move to create a barrier, but one cold, hard stare from Reigns is enough to make them hesitate. Reigns slowly takes the microphone from a stunned Rollins, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity. The crowd is a mix of cheers and boos, but they are all captivated. He speaks, his voice low and seething with controlled rage.)

"You need to shut your mouth. Right now. Last night, I went to war. For fifteen minutes, I stood in this ring and I went toe-to-toe with the most destructive force this industry has ever seen. I took every single thing Brock Lesnar had to give... every suplex, every F-5... and I got back up every single time. And then, I gave it all right back. I took him to his limit, I busted him open, and I had him beat. You felt it, Seth. Everybody in that stadium felt it. The Beast was slain, my hand was about to be raised, and my moment was finally here. And then I saw you. I saw you scurry down that ramp like the rat you are, and you cashed in your little briefcase. But let's be clear about what happened next. You didn't pin Brock Lesnar. You didn't slay The Beast. You waited until my back was turned, and you pinned me. You stuck the final knife in the back of The Shield, you stole my championship, and you proved that you are nothing but a coward. So you can talk about Randy, you can call yourself The Architect, but the only thing that matters right now is the unfinished business between you and me. I don't care about a line. I'm here for a fight. I'm here for what's mine."

(Rollins, now trapped between a furious Reigns and a circling Orton, begins to hyperventilate, his eyes darting back and forth. He snatches the microphone back, his voice cracking with panic.)

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Unfinished business? Your business is finished, Roman! Your fairy tale is over! Get over it! This has nothing to do with you anymore!" Orton steps forward, calmly interjecting himself between Reigns and Rollins. "Actually, Seth, it has nothing to do with you either. My business is with that title. And I was here first." He turns his gaze to Reigns. "Look, Roman, I get it. He screwed you, and you deserve to get your hands on him. But facts are facts. I beat the champion less than 24 hours ago. That puts me at the front of the line. You can have whatever's left of him after I take back my championship." Reigns scoffs, getting in Orton's face now. "Your line? You think I care about your line? The only thing I care about is payback!" The three are now in a tense triangle in the center of the ring. Rollins sees an opening, a flicker of his manipulative genius returning. "YES! YES! That's it! You two have the problem! Why don't you two big, tough guys just fight it out right now, and maybe... just maybe... the winner gets to be the first one I laugh at when I turn them down for a title shot! The Architect strikes ag—"

(The sound of shattering glass, followed by a screaming electric guitar riff that makes the entire arena shake.)

(The unmistakable, terrifying theme music of Brock Lesnar hits. Rollins’s face instantly drains of all color, going from panicked to ghostly white. Orton and Reigns, who were nose-to-nose, both stop dead in their tracks and slowly turn their heads towards the entrance ramp. The crowd explodes in a chaotic roar as “The Beast Incarnate” Brock Lesnar emerges onto the stage, bouncing on his feet like a caged animal. And right beside him, holding a microphone and wearing the most sinister, satisfied smirk in the building, is Paul Heyman. Paul Heyman and Brock Lesnar circle the ring, savoring the palpable fear radiating from Seth Rollins. Lesnar, a great white shark sensing blood, just bounces on the balls of his feet, a terrifying smirk on his face. Heyman climbs the ring steps with purpose, is handed a microphone, and stands in the center of the chaos. He clears his throat with theatrical importance, and the entire arena quiets down to hang on his every word.)

"Ladies... and gentlemen. My name is Paul Heyman. And I am the advocate for the rightful, reigning, defending, undisputed WWE Heavyweight Champion of the World... BROCK LESNAR. It seems we have a... spirited debate going on in this ring. A debate of some relevance, but ultimately, a debate that is entirely moot. So allow me to clarify the situation for the three of you would-be contenders. Mr. Orton, you stand here tonight on the commendable, yet entirely irrelevant, achievement of beating a challenger. Not the champion. Mr. Reigns, you stand here tonight on the valiant, yet ultimately unsuccessful, effort of fighting the champion, but failing to conquer the champion. And Mr. Rollins... you pathetic, little architect of your own demise... you stand here tonight in possession of stolen property. You see, you did not pin the champion. You pinned the challenger. Therefore, per the legally binding contract my client signed, a contract now in flagrant breach, my client, BROCK LESNAR, is entitled to his mandatory, one-on-one championship rematch. The discussion of who is next, the debate about who is at the front of the line, it all begins and it all ends with the Beast. So this is not a request, Seth. This is a spoiler. You WILL give my client his rematch... or my client will take it from you, piece by piece, right here tonight."

(Rollins's face is a mask of pure terror. He is completely surrounded, his web of lies and plans torn apart by the four men he wronged. He stammers into his microphone, looking frantically at J&J Security for an escape that isn't there.)

"Now-now-now, hold on a minute, Paul! Let's all just be reasonable professionals here! There's no need for threats! We can talk to The Authority, we can schedule something, we can work this out!" Orton steps forward, cutting him off with a venomous glare. "The only thing getting worked out tonight is who gets to tear you apart first, and my claim was first." Reigns pushes between them, his eyes locked on Lesnar, who has now hopped up onto the ring apron. "I was pinning him. I was pinning Lesnar before this coward got involved. My fight is with both of them." The ring has become a powder keg, with all three contenders shouting over each other, their claims drowning each other out in a sea of chaotic ambition. Rollins is in the middle, his head on a swivel, when suddenly, Brock Lesnar has had enough. He slides into the ring, rips the microphone violently from his own advocate's hand, and the entire arena goes dead silent. He gets an inch from Rollins's face, the other two contenders forgotten. Lesnar, the Beast himself, speaks, his voice a low, guttural growl that promises nothing but violence.

"Suplex City... bitch."

(Lesnar drops the mic with a thud. Rollins’s eyes widen in sheer terror as he instinctively tries to scramble backwards, but there is nowhere to go. A predatory grin spreads across Lesnar’s face as all hell breaks loose, The Beast Incarnate charging across the ring, a blur of raw fury aimed directly at the terrified champion...)

The instant the words leave Lesnar’s lips, Seth Rollins reacts with the desperate, instinctual act of self-preservation that has defined his career. He dives and scrambles under the bottom rope, hitting the floor and immediately trying to flee through the crowd. But Brock Lesnar is not a man, he is a runaway locomotive of vengeance. With an explosive roar, Lesnar vaults clean over the top rope to the floor, landing on his feet with impossible agility and giving chase. The pursuit is pure, predatory rage as Rollins frantically circles the ring, kicking at the steel steps and shoving the announce table in Lesnar's path to slow him down, but The Beast simply plows through every obstacle, his eyes locked on the champion. Back in the ring, with the main event chase captivating the arena, Randy Orton and Roman Reigns are left staring each other down. J&J Security, in a moment of stunningly poor judgment, decided to intervene on behalf of their absent boss. Jamie Noble charges at Reigns and is met with a thunderous Superman Punch that turns his lights out instantly. Joey Mercury lunges for Orton, who ducks the attack, grabs Mercury's head in a flash, and plants him in the center of the ring with a blistering, lightning-quick RKO, clearing the ring of all distractions.

With the champion and the beast gone and the security neutralized, Orton and Reigns are the last two predators left in the squared circle, the tension from their earlier confrontation immediately boiling over. Reigns lets out a war cry, pounds the mat, and charges forward for a Spear. Orton, with the incredible timing of a veteran, sees it coming and leaps high into the air, twisting his body to catch Reigns with a counter RKO in a stunning mid-air collision. But Reigns, with unbelievable power and awareness, shoves Orton off his shoulders in mid-flight. Orton stumbles back, disoriented, directly into the path of a mountain. The Big Show, having silently slid into the ring during the exchange, unleashes a devastating KO Punch, the sickening thud echoing through the arena as Orton is out cold before he even hits the canvas. Reigns, seeing the giant, immediately charges again, cutting the seven-foot veteran in half with a massive Spear! But as Reigns gets to his feet, a demonic red pyro suddenly explodes from the ring posts, and the hulking form of Kane, The Authority’s Director of Operations, is in the ring behind him. A massive hand clamps around Reigns’ throat, and he is lifted high into the air and slammed down with a bone-jarring chokeslam. The screen suddenly cuts to a shaky, handheld camera shot from the backstage area, where a terrified Seth Rollins is seen sprinting through the corridors, toppling over production equipment with a wild-eyed Brock Lesnar just seconds behind him, a trail of destruction in their wake as the show cuts abruptly to a commercial.

Commercial Break

The show returns from the commercial break not to the ring, but to the chaotic maze of the backstage area, the screen split into two harrowing perspectives. On one side, we see the terrified, deer-in-the-headlights vantage point of a sprinting Seth Rollins, his chest heaving as he knocks over laundry bins and shoves past bewildered stagehands. The other side of the screen is pure, unadulterated fury: the shaky, predator-cam view of Brock Lesnar, his breathing a heavy, guttural growl as he smashes through catering tables and rips a door off its hinges that stands in his way. The chase is a blur of concrete corridors and echoing footsteps, a life-or-death pursuit through the heart of the arena. Rollins finally bursts through a set of double doors leading to the talent parking garage, where a black Escalade is waiting with the engine roaring. With Lesnar just seconds behind him, Rollins dives headfirst into the open back door, screaming at the driver. The tires screech against the pavement as the vehicle peels out, disappearing into the night just as Lesnar arrives, slamming his fists on the concrete wall in a primal, guttural roar of pure frustration.

Left with no prey, The Beast Incarnate becomes a tornado of destruction. His eyes, now black holes of fury, scan the garage for anything to annihilate. He grabs a massive anvil case and hurls it through the windshield of a nearby car. He rips the side mirror off a limousine and throws it a hundred feet. A terrified production assistant, clipboard in hand, makes the fatal mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Lesnar snatches him by the collar, effortlessly hoisting him into the air and sending him flying into a pile of empty equipment cases with a sickening crash. Just as Lesnar turns his attention to a production truck, the authoritative voices of Triple H and Stephanie McMahon echo through the garage. They approach cautiously, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Brock! BROCK! That's enough, calm down!" Triple H commands, trying to talk sense into the rage-fueled animal. "The car is gone, he's gone. It's over." But Lesnar is in another world, a world where reason doesn't exist. He turns slowly, his gaze falling upon the COO of the company. In one sudden, shocking movement, Lesnar lunges forward, scoops Triple H onto his shoulders, and with a guttural roar, plants The Game with a monstrous F-5 on the unforgiving concrete floor.

The sickening thud echoes through the garage as a dozen staff members and officials immediately run over, attending to the motionless body of Triple H. Stephanie’s screams of concern for her husband instantly morph into a torrent of pure venom. She gets directly in the stoic, unblinking face of Brock Lesnar, completely unafraid, her voice filled with the unbridled fury of the Billion Dollar Princess. "YOU SON OF A BITCH! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! You think you can just come in here and destroy our property?! Attack our employees?! You think you can put your hands on the COO of this company?! ON MY HUSBAND?!" Lesnar just stares back, his breathing heavy, the red mist of his rage slowly beginning to clear. Stephanie, her eyes blazing, makes the ultimate decree. "YOU'RE FINED! YOU'RE DONE! YOU HEAR ME?! YOU ARE HEREBY SUSPENDED, INDEFINITELY! NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ARENA!" Without a word, without a flicker of remorse, Lesnar slowly turns his back on the human wreckage at his feet, brushes past the terrified officials, and walks out of the arena into the night.

Intercontinental Championship Match
Daniel Bryan (c) vs. Bad News Barrett

MATCH SUMMARY: The bell rings and the new Intercontinental Champion Daniel Bryan finds himself immediately on the defensive against a vengeful Bad News Barrett. The brutish brawler, seething from losing his title the night before without being pinned, wastes no time in using his significant size and power advantage. Barrett corners Bryan, pummeling him with heavy clubbing blows to the back and shoulders, intelligently targeting the areas that were battered and bruised in the grueling WrestleMania Ladder Match. Every time Bryan attempts to use his speed to create separation, Barrett cuts him off with a thunderous big boot or a punishing Irish whip that sends the champion crashing hard into the turnbuckles. The San Jose crowd tries to rally behind their hero with "YES!" chants, but Barrett silences them by grounding Bryan with a series of knee strikes and a tight chin lock, slowing the pace to a methodical, grinding crawl. He drapes Bryan over the top rope, delivering a series of brutal forearms to the chest before taunting the audience, declaring that their celebration would be short-lived. After a devastating backbreaker earns him a long two-count, a frustrated Barrett hoists the champion onto his shoulders, signaling for the Wasteland, looking to emphatically reclaim his gold.

Just as Barrett prepares to deliver the final blow, Bryan, feeding off the energy of the desperate crowd, begins to fight back with a series of sharp elbows to the side of Barrett’s head, forcing the brawler to release him. Bryan lands on his feet and explodes with a renewed vigor, connecting with a series of lightning-fast kicks to Barrett's legs, chopping the bigger man down. He follows up with his signature running corner dropkicks, not once, but twice, before placing Barrett on the top turnbuckle for a high-risk hurricanrana that sends the arena into a frenzy. The leader of the YES! Movement unleashes a volley of Yes! Kicks to Barrett's chest, the entire SAP Center chanting "YES!" with every impact. But as Bryan winds up for the final kick to the head, Barrett ducks under it and catches him on the rebound, planting him in the center of the ring with a thunderous Winds of Change for a heart-stopping near-fall. Enraged, Barrett pulls down his elbow pad, signaling for the decisive Bull Hammer. As he swings, Bryan ducks underneath the vicious blow, and when Barrett turns around, the champion explodes out of the corner, connecting flush with a massive Running Knee. The impact echoes through the arena as Bryan covers him for the decisive 1-2-3, securing his first successful title defense and proving that the workhorse champion was here to stay.

WINNER: DANIEL BRYAN (Still Intercontinental Champion)

(The bell rings, and the SAP Center explodes in a thunderous chorus of "YES!" chants as Daniel Bryan is handed his Intercontinental Championship. He struggles to his feet, clutching the title to his chest, a look of pure, unadulterated joy mixed with exhaustion on his face. He climbs the turnbuckles, thrusting the white and gold belt into the air in perfect time with the roaring crowd, a champion in perfect sync with his people. After the celebration, he asks for a microphone, his voice filled with passion.) "For too long," Bryan begins, "this title... this Intercontinental Championship... has been an afterthought. But when I look at this, I don't just see a title. I see the legacy of 'Macho Man' Randy Savage! I see the legacy of Mr. Perfect! I see the legacy of Ricky 'The Dragon' Steamboat and Bret 'The Hitman' Hart! These were the greatest wrestlers in the world, the workhorses of this company. Last night, I climbed a ladder and I fought my heart out to win this. And I promise every single one of you, I will restore the prestige that this title deserves. And I'm going to do that by being what a champion is supposed to be... a FIGHTING champion!"

(Just as the crowd erupts in approval, the distinct sound of a record scratch followed by the driving beat of "Here to Show the World" fills the arena. Dolph Ziggler emerges, not with his usual cocky swagger, but with a serious, determined look on his face. He walks to the ring with purpose and gets a microphone, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. He looks at Bryan with a clear, undeniable respect.) "Daniel, first of all... congratulations. Last night, you earned that. We all earned a shot, but you were the one who pulled it down, and I respect the hell out of that. I've scratched and clawed for that title more times than I can count. I've won it, I've lost it... it means more to me than you can imagine. But last night at WrestleMania... after all the chaos, after all the bodies were lying around the ring... it all came down to two men at the top of that ladder. It was just me... and you. We were up there, inches away from this title, inches away from our dream, and we were literally beating the hell out of each other with headbutts. And in that moment, looking at you, with 76,000 people going crazy... all I could think was, 'This is it. This is what it's all about. This is the best.' To be the man, you've got to beat the man... and Daniel, right now, you are the man."

(Bryan nods, a smile of mutual respect on his face. He raises his microphone to respond.) "Dolph... every single word you just said... I felt it too. I know how good you are. Everybody in that locker room knows how good you are, and every single person in this arena knows it too. You are one of the absolute best I have ever been in this ring with, and if you want another shot at this title, you don't even have to ask, the answer is..." Ziggler quickly holds up a hand to stop him. "No, no, wait," Ziggler says, his voice filled with an intense fire. "That's just it. I don't want 'another shot.' One match, one lucky pin, one fluke... that doesn't prove who is truly the best. That just proves who was better for one night. You and me, Daniel, we could steal the show on any night, in any arena in the world. I want to prove, without a shadow of a doubt, who the greatest Intercontinental Champion of this generation is. So I'm not challenging you to a match. I am challenging you to a war. Me... versus you. For the Intercontinental Championship... a Best of Seven Series. First man to win four matches, walks away the undisputed champion."

(The challenge hangs in the air, and the entire arena begins to buzz with the sheer possibility. Daniel Bryan looks at the determined face of Dolph Ziggler, then down at the Intercontinental Championship in his hands, and then out to the thousands of fans in attendance who are now starting a groundswell of "YES!" chants that morph into a unified roar of "BEST OF SEVEN!". Bryan paces the ring for a moment, absorbing the weight of the proposal. He knows what a series like that would entail: a grueling, physically punishing war that could shorten the career of any man. He brings the microphone back up, his expression a mixture of respect and intense contemplation.) "Dolph... do you have any idea what you're asking for? What a series like that would do to us? We'd beat the holy hell out of each other, night after night. For years, you and I... we've been the guys they said were 'too small' or 'not what they were looking for.' We've had to scratch and claw for every single opportunity, and we proved everyone wrong by out-working, out-hustling, and out-wrestling every single person who stood in our way. A Best of Seven Series... that's not just a challenge; it's the ultimate test of survival and endurance. It's a testament to who the real workhorse is. But this championship, it doesn't just belong to me. It belongs to every single one of you! So I have to ask you... DO YOU want to see Dolph Ziggler and Daniel Bryan go to war in a Best of Seven Series for the Intercontinental Championship?"

(The response is instantaneous and overwhelming. The SAP Center erupts in the loudest, most sustained "YES!" chant of the entire night, a deafening sea of approval that shakes the building. A wide, determined grin breaks across Daniel Bryan's face as he turns his full attention back to Ziggler, the fire of competition burning in his eyes. The decision has been made for him, and it's the one his heart wanted all along.) "Then Dolph Ziggler, you've got yourself a war! You want to make this Intercontinental Championship the most important, most talked-about title in all of WWE? Then this is how we do it! Not with politics, not with cheap shots, but by proving it in this ring, with wrestling! You want to find out who the best is? Then we will leave every single drop of sweat, blood, and tears we have in this ring until there is no question left! Let the games begin!" Bryan lowers the microphone and extends his hand. Ziggler looks at it for a moment, then back into Bryan’s eyes, and grasps it firmly. The handshake is a pact, a promise of the grueling, show-stealing, five-star war that is to come. The two competitors stand in the center of the ring, champions of their craft, raising their clasped hands to the roaring crowd as they usher in a new era of competition for the workhorse title.

(The camera cuts from the celebratory scene in the ring to the hushed, tense atmosphere of The Authority’s office backstage. Stephanie McMahon, no longer the furious, powerful woman who suspended a Beast, paces back and forth like a caged lioness, her face a pale mask of fear and anguish. On a large monitor behind her desk, the horrific footage plays on a sickening loop: Brock Lesnar hoisting her husband, Triple H, onto his shoulders, the gut-wrenching spin, and the sickening, final impact of the F-5 on the hard concrete of the parking garage. She stops pacing and stares at the screen, her hands trembling as she wraps them around herself. A single tear traces a path down her cheek before she wipes it away, her expression hardening as she turns to face the camera, forcing herself into the role of the woman in charge.) "My husband... the COO of this company, Triple H... was rushed to a local medical facility just a short time ago," she begins, her voice low and trembling with a mixture of rage and sorrow. "The initial reports from the doctors are... that he has suffered severe trauma... and they're running a battery of tests to determine the full extent of the damage. (She chokes back a sob, her jaw tightening as she visibly steels herself) But the actions of one out-of-control monster will not stop this show. My family's personal tragedy will not stop Monday Night Raw. Because I have a responsibility... a responsibility to all of you, to our superstars, and to our business partners, to ensure that this show goes on. And it will."

(Her demeanor shifts, the dejection and fear being replaced by the cold, calculating fury of the leader of The Authority. The trembling in her voice is gone, replaced by a sharp, venomous edge as she glares into the camera lens.) "And continuing means restoring order. The chaos that you saw in that ring earlier tonight was instigated by two men who believe they are above the rules, two men who care only about their own selfish desires: Randy Orton and Roman Reigns. They created an unstable environment, they fanned the flames that led to this catastrophe, and in The Authority, instability is always met with swift and decisive action. So tonight, in our main event, order will be restored. Randy Orton and Roman Reigns will be forced to put their petty differences aside and team up to face The Authority's Director of Operations, Kane, and The World's Largest Athlete, The Big Show! Perhaps after they are systematically dismantled and beaten down tonight, they will finally understand that there are severe consequences for disrupting my show on my night. And I promise you, tonight, they will suffer those consequences."

Commercial Break

(The lights in the arena dim and the familiar, driving beat of "I Came to Play" fills the SAP Center, immediately met with a chorus of disdainful boos. Out walks The Miz, dressed in a gaudy, sequined blazer and wearing his signature sunglasses, even indoors. He raises a hand to block out the "peasants," a look of utter disgust on his face as he soaks in the negative reaction. A step behind him, a perfect mirror image in motion, is Damien Mizdow, who flawlessly mimics the gesture to a roaring ovation from the crowd. Miz stops dead on the ramp, turns, and glares at his stunt double, hissing something under his breath. Mizdow, in response, simply glares back with the exact same expression, which only makes the crowd cheer louder. The entire walk to the ring is a study in frustration, with every arrogant pose The Miz strikes being duplicated by a gleeful Mizdow, who receives all the adoration. Miz slides into the ring and snatches a microphone, while Mizdow theatrically rolls in behind him and pretends to hold his own mic, mouthing every word.) "REALLY?! REALLY?! That is the reception you give a true Hollywood A-Lister? A former WWE Champion who has main-evented WrestleMania?! You boo me, and you cheer... (he points a dismissive thumb at Mizdow, who also points a thumb at himself) ...HIM?! My STUNT DOUBLE! The man who betrayed me last night! The man who cost me my Andre the Giant Memorial trophy! The man who is single-handedly trying to ruin my career by turning my life into a circus!"

"I AM NOT A JOKE!" Miz shrieks, his voice cracking with indignation as the crowd continues to chant for Mizdow. "I am a movie star! This face... this Moneymaker... is a global brand! For months, I have been disrespected by all of you, and overshadowed by this... (he gestures wildly at Mizdow, who perfectly mimics the frantic gesture) ...this glorified mime! My career is not a comedy! It is a blockbuster epic, and it is time for a rewrite! Last night was the final straw. My brand was damaged. My reputation was tarnished. And I am sick and tired of it. I came back to WWE to be a main eventer, not to be upstaged by my own damn assistant! So tonight, that all changes. Tonight, I stop being an attraction and I start being a threat again. I am going to get the respect that I deserve back, and apparently, the only way to do that around here is to beat it out of somebody. So I am issuing an open challenge, right here, right now, to anyone in that locker room who has the guts to step into this ring with a bonafide A-Lister. So who is it?! Who wants to come out here and be my co-star in the scene where I remind the entire world why I am the most must-see WWE Superstar of all time?!"

(The Miz stands impatiently in the ring, his arrogant challenge hanging in the air as Damien Mizdow perfectly mimics his annoyed posture. After a moment of silence, the arena is suddenly rocked by an explosive, orchestral rock theme it has never heard before. All eyes turn to the entrance ramp as the name "NEVILLE" flashes across the titantron. Out walks a man who looks like he was sculpted from stone, a compact powerhouse with an intense, focused glare. With no cape and no comic book persona, this is the all-business, former NXT Champion, "The Man That Gravity Forgot." The notoriously smart post-WrestleMania crowd erupts in a massive ovation, recognizing the heralded newcomer instantly. Neville makes a beeline for the ring, his movements economical and filled with purpose. He slides under the bottom rope and gets directly in The Miz's face, who looks both confused and insulted.) "And just who the hell are you supposed to be?" Miz sneers. Neville says nothing, simply bouncing on the balls of his feet like a coiled spring. At ringside, Mizdow begins hilariously mimicking Neville’s intense warm-up, infuriating Miz to no end as the referee calls for the bell.

The Miz vs. Neville

MATCH SUMMARY: The match begins and The Miz, ever the arrogant veteran, immediately tries to use his size advantage, but he is completely unprepared for Neville's blinding speed. The newcomer is a blur of motion, ducking under a clothesline and responding with a blistering series of kicks to the legs and midsection that forces Miz to retreat to the corner. However, The Miz’s cunning soon takes over, as he lures Neville in and sends him crashing shoulder-first into the steel ring post, grounding the high-flyer. For the next several minutes, The Miz controls the pace with a methodical, punishing offense of stomps and chin locks, taking every opportunity to taunt the crowd and scream at Damien Mizdow on the outside, who continues to perfectly mirror his every move. This proves to be Miz’s undoing, as his obsession with his stunt double causes constant distractions, allowing Neville to find openings and fire back with breathtaking bursts of offense, including a jaw-dropping springboard moonsault to the outside that leaves the audience in awe.

Frustrated beyond belief, The Miz cuts off Neville’s momentum with a thumb to the eye and hits his signature corner clothesline. He ascends to the top rope to mock Neville, but spends too much time glaring at Mizdow, allowing Neville to leap up with him and bring him crashing down with a spectacular top-rope Frankensteiner. Neville follows up with a breathtaking standing shooting star press for a near-fall. Enraged, Miz manages to escape a waist lock and sets up for the Skull-Crushing Finale. But as he hooks Neville’s arms, his eyes drift to ringside where Mizdow is perfectly mimicking the setup. "STOP COPYING ME!" Miz shrieks, his focus completely broken. That split second is all Neville needs. He spins out of the hold, delivers a stunning superkick that rocks Miz to his core, and immediately scrambles to the top turnbuckle. The entire arena rises to its feet as Neville leaps into the air, twisting his body in a breathtaking corkscrew rotation before crashing down onto Miz with the picture-perfect Red Arrow. The referee’s hand hits the mat for the three-count, and Neville has made an incredible, decisive debut, leaving a furious Miz to stare up at the lights while his stunt double mimics the victor's celebration at ringside.

WINNER: Neville

As Neville’s victory music fades, the cameras zoom in on a defeated Miz, who is still lying face-down on the mat. The humiliation of losing his own challenge to a debuting rookie finally boils over, and he begins to throw an absolute tantrum, beating his fists against the canvas like a spoiled child who just had his favorite toy taken away. He rips at his hair, his face contorting in a mask of pure, unadulterated humiliation as he screams in frustration. In the center of the ring, Damien Mizdow, ever the professional stunt double, begins to theatrically mimic the entire meltdown. As Miz pounds the mat, Mizdow pounds it with exaggerated agony. As Miz screams at the heavens, Mizdow opens his mouth in a silent, dramatic wail. The crowd, once cheering for Neville, is now in absolute stitches, their laughter echoing through the arena and serving as the soundtrack to Miz's utter breakdown. The sound finally makes Miz snap, he turns around and clotheslines Mizdow to the ground. The laughter in the arena dies instantly, replaced by a collective gasp of shock as The Miz relentlessly stomps away at his now-former partner, screaming "YOU DON'T UPSTAGE ME!" over and over. He drags a dazed Mizdow to his feet, hooks his arms, looks down at the man who had become his shadow, and with a snarl of utter contempt, drives him face-first into the mat with a vicious Skull-Crushing Finale. The Miz rises to his feet, not looking frustrated anymore, but looking terrifyingly satisfied, as the deafening wave of boos crashes down upon him while he stands over the motionless body of the stunt double he finally destroyed.

Commercial Break

(The show returns from commercial, cutting to the stark, silent locker room of Rusev and Lana. A defeated Rusev sits hunched over on a steel bench, his fists still taped, his head in his hands as he stares at the floor. The United States Championship, the symbol of his dominance for so long, is nowhere in sight. Lana stands across from him, her arms crossed, her usual look of icy superiority replaced by a mask of cold, simmering disappointment. Her voice finally cuts through the heavy silence, each word a perfectly enunciated icicle.) "An entire year," she begins, her tone sharp and devoid of sympathy. "An entire year of dominance, of invincibility, of absolute superiority. We arrived at WrestleMania on a symbol of Russian power, before the eyes of the entire world... and you failed. You were pinned. You were humiliated. By him. By that walking, talking piece of American propaganda, John Cena." Rusev explodes to his feet, letting out a guttural, wounded roar as he grabs the steel bench and hurls it across the room where it crashes violently against the lockers. "I CRUSHED HIM!" Rusev bellows, his face red with a mixture of rage and shame. "I BROKE HIM! The man could not breathe! He was finished!" Lana takes a step toward him, her eyes narrowing. "But he was not! He endured because you lost your focus! In the critical moment, with victory in your grasp, you allowed yourself to be distracted, and you ran into ME!" Rusev spins to face her, his massive chest heaving. "YOU! Why were you on the apron?! You were not supposed to be there! You cost me everything!" For a moment, the two stare each other down, the first crack in their perfect alliance showing. Lana's expression then softens, but not with pity, with cold, calculating strategy. "Stop this pathetic whining. Your anger is useless unless it has a purpose. We will invoke your rematch clause. But you will not just defeat John Cena. You will not just pin him. You will systematically dismantle him. You will break his body, and you will break his spirit. You will make him suffer until that championship returns to your waist." Rusev's wild rage slowly subsides, replaced by a cold, predatory focus as a cruel smile begins to form on his face.

(John Cena’s music hits, and the SAP Center erupts in the familiar, deafeningly loud, and deeply divided chorus of cheers and boos. The brand new United States Champion emerges, sprinting down the ramp with a renewed energy and purpose, the championship belt gleaming around his waist. He slides into the ring, salutes the crowd, and soaks in the passionate reaction before asking for a microphone. He looks down at the title, a serious and determined expression on his face.) "Last night, at WrestleMania, in front of the entire world, we did exactly what we said we were going to do. We brought this championship home. For nearly a year, this title was held by a man who used it as a symbol of division, of hate, and of oppression. He paraded it around as proof that his way was superior, and that our way was a failure. Well, Rusev’s undefeated streak is over, his reign is over, and the era of this championship being a source of negativity is over. As of right now, this United States Championship once again stands for what it is truly supposed to stand for: respect, dignity, and its most important quality, opportunity for all. It is a symbol of excellence, a benchmark that proves to the world that if you work hard and never give up, you can achieve anything."

"A championship is not just something you win and hold onto. It is a responsibility. A champion shouldn't hide behind managers or wait for a challenger to be named. A true champion goes looking for a fight, every single night. A true champion proves why they are the best by taking on all comers. So I am making a promise, right here, right now, to every single one of you, and to every single superstar in that locker room. From this day forward, this title will be a symbol of opportunity. Every week, right here on Monday Night Raw, I will stand in this very ring, and I will defend this championship in the first-ever, official, John Cena U.S. Open Challenge! (The crowd roars in approval) You want a shot at the champ? I'm not hard to find! I'm right here! You want some? Come get some! And this new tradition, this new standard for what a champion should be... it doesn't start next week. It starts RIGHT NOW! So, I have just one question for that locker room full of superstars. Who wants to be first?"

(Cena tosses the microphone aside and holds the United States Championship high, his eyes fixed on the entrance ramp. The entire arena waits with bated breath, the buzz of speculation filling the air. After a tense moment of silence, the unmistakable sound of a European siren wails through the arena, and the crowd explodes as the WWE Tag Team Champions emerge. Cesaro walks out with a confident swagger, flanked by his partners Tyson Kidd, who has a tag team title slung over his shoulder, and Natalya. The trio, oozing with the arrogance of champions, march to the ring with a unified, professional purpose. Cesaro enters the ring and gets nose-to-nose with Cena, not with frantic energy, but with the cool, calm confidence of a man who believes he is the best wrestler on the planet and is backed by a team that proves it. The challenge has been answered. The referee calls for the bell, and the first-ever U.S. Open Challenge is officially underway.)

United States Championship Match
John Cena (c) vs. Cesaro

Match Summary: The bell rings and the match begins with an intense display of technical prowess, with Cesaro using his incredible strength to out-wrestle and ground the champion. With Tyson Kidd shouting instructions from the outside, Cesaro dictates a methodical pace, frustrating Cena at every turn. Every time Cena builds momentum, the presence of Kidd and Natalya at ringside becomes a factor. A well-timed distraction from Natalya allows Cesaro to cut Cena off with a thunderous European uppercut that sends him tumbling to the floor. Kidd seizes the opportunity, getting in a cheap shot on Cena while the referee is preoccupied, sending a visibly angered Cena back into the ring and into the clutches of his opponent. Cesaro continues his masterful assault, catching Cena mid-air and planting him with a punishing tilt-a-whirl backbreaker before flexing for his partners, who applaud his dominance.

The champion, fighting a three-on-one battle, digs deep, finally managing to create separation and begin his signature comeback. He hits his shoulder tackles and proto-bomb, but as he goes for the Five Knuckle Shuffle, Tyson Kidd leaps onto the ring apron. Cena turns his attention to Kidd, but this allows Cesaro to recover and nearly decapitate him with another running uppercut for a near-fall. Later, Cesaro wows the crowd with a massive Cesaro Swing, transitioning it seamlessly into the Sharpshooter. As Cena crawls towards the ropes, Kidd attempts to pull the bottom rope away, but the referee catches him, leading to a tense argument. This momentary chaos allows Cena to break the hold and eventually hit an Attitude Adjustment, but Cesaro kicks out! In the final sequence, Cesaro goes for the Neutralizer, but Cena powers out and shoves him toward the corner, inadvertently knocking Tyson Kidd off the apron. The brief look of concern on Cesaro's face is all the opening Cena needs; he scoops his stunned opponent up and hits a second, definitive Attitude Adjustment for the hard-fought victory.

WINNER: JOHN CENA (Still United States Champion)

As Cena's music plays, the referee raises his hand, but the champion is too exhausted to celebrate, collapsing to one knee. On the outside, a furious Tyson Kidd and a distraught Natalya help a disgruntled Cesaro to his feet. There is no show of sportsmanship. Instead, Kidd and Cesaro begin arguing heatedly with the referee from the floor, pointing at Cena and claiming he cheated. The trio angrily retreats up the ramp, gesturing back at the ring and insisting that Cesaro is the better man. Cena, having overcome the odds, simply watches them go, clutching his United States Championship and proving that his Open Challenge means he's ready for a fight against anyone—and their friends.

(The camera cuts to a stark, concrete corridor deep in the backstage area of the arena, where Randy Orton is methodically taping his wrists, his eyes cold and focused. The silence is broken by the heavy footsteps of Roman Reigns, who enters the corridor from the opposite end, pacing like a caged animal, his jaw clenched in a permanent state of fury. The two men stop, separated by twenty feet of tense, empty space, and lock eyes. There’s no greeting, only the thick, palpable animosity of two alpha predators forced into the same territory. Orton is the first to speak, his voice a low, pragmatic hiss that cuts through the silence.) "Let's get something perfectly clear, Reigns. I don't like you. I don't trust you. And after we're done with Stephanie's two corporate monsters tonight, I'm still coming for the WWE World Heavyweight Championship shot that I earned when I beat Seth Rollins at WrestleMania. But The Authority wants to take us both out of that picture permanently, and I'm not going to let you and your hot head screw that up for me. So for tonight, and tonight only, we have a common enemy. You handle your business, I'll handle mine, and we get through this." Roman scoffs, a humorless, almost cruel smile flashing across his face as he finally stops pacing. "You want to talk about strategy? I don't have a strategy. I have a purpose. I'm going to walk down that ramp, I'm going to hit a Superman Punch, and I'm going to hit a Spear, over and over, until I get my hands on Seth Rollins. That's it. You want to help me clear a path, fine. You want to get in my way... try it." Orton slowly walks towards him until they are nose-to-nose, the veteran Viper staring down the enraged Samoan powerhouse. "Don't be stupid," Orton growls. "They want to end us. Just stay out of my way, let me do what I do, and we walk out of there. After that, all bets are off." Reigns doesn't answer, simply staring through Orton for a long, tense moment before turning and walking away without another word, leaving the Viper alone with their fragile, unspoken, and incredibly volatile truce.

Commercial Break

Stardust vs. R-Truth

Match Summary: The bell rings and the match is a bizarre clash of styles from the start, with R-Truth's dancing and "What's Up!" taunts immediately getting under the skin of the intensely focused Stardust. The cosmic enigma responds with hissing and erratic, herky-jerky movements, trying to create a universe of chaos that R-Truth simply isn't visiting. Stardust gains the upper hand through sheer aggression, grounding Truth with a series of stomps and a twisting Russian leg sweep, all while muttering incoherently about constellations and black holes. He seems to be in full control, setting Truth up for his finishing move, the Queen's Crossbow. But as he does his signature cartwheel taunt, R-Truth suddenly springs to life, ducks the incoming attack, and catches the disoriented Stardust with his Lie Detector axe kick completely out of nowhere. Stunned, Stardust stumbles back and R-Truth scoops him up for a quick roll-up, hooking the leg for the shocking and decisive three-count.

WINNER: R-Truth

As R-Truth’s music plays and he celebrates up the ramp, Stardust remains kneeling in the center of the ring, his body trembling, his gloved hands clutching at his head. The loss, not just a loss, but a humiliating loss to a comedy act, seems to have short-circuited his cosmic consciousness. The hissing stops. The frantic twitching ceases. He looks down at his own hands, covered in shimmering gloves, as if seeing them for the first time. A low, guttural sound of pure anguish escapes his lips, a sound completely alien to the Stardust persona. The crowd watches in a confused, uncomfortable silence as he slowly, deliberately, begins to rake his fingernails across his own face. It’s not a gentle wipe; it is a violent, desperate act of clawing. He scrapes away the black and gold paint, smearing it with sweat and tears, gouging at the suffocating mask he has worn for so long.

He pulls and tears at the suffocating bodysuit, ripping the star-covered fabric at the seams. With each piece of the persona that he violently sheds, a new man seems to emerge from underneath. He continues to claw at his face until the last remnants of the black star are gone, revealing the raw, red skin underneath. He looks up, his eyes no longer wide with cosmic madness, but filled with a terrifying, lucid clarity and a profound, soul-crushing pain. He is no longer Stardust. He is Cody Rhodes. He looks out at the audience, not as a character, but as a man who has finally, violently, broken free from his own prison, and the entire arena is stunned into a palpable silence, witnessing a man having a complete and total existential breakdown in the center of the ring.

Suddenly, the bizarre, orchestral opening of Goldust’s theme music fills the arena. Out walks the iconic figure himself, in his full, glittering regalia—the black and gold face paint a perfect, stoic mask, the shimmering robe flowing behind him. He walks down the ramp with a concerned, yet theatrical gait, his painted eyes wide with a mix of confusion and hope. "Cody?" he asks, his voice echoing through the arena, a bizarre blend of character and genuine concern. "Little brother... is that you under there?" He slides into the ring and cautiously approaches the broken man in the center. Cody looks up, his face a mess of smeared paint and raw emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks. He stumbles to his feet, and the two brothers—one a painted enigma, the other a man desperately trying to shed his own painted past—meet in the center of the ring. After a moment of hesitation, Cody collapses into his older brother’s arms, sobbing. Goldust holds him tight, patting his back, a look of pure, unadulterated joy on his face. "It's okay, little brother," he whispers. "It's okay. You're back." The crowd erupts in a massive, emotional cheer, witnessing what appears to be a beautiful, cathartic family reunion. Cody pulls back, a genuine, tearful smile on his face as he looks at his brother.

But then, in an instant, everything changes. The smile on Cody’s face vanishes, replaced by a look of cold, predatory emptiness. The hug lingers for a second too long before he violently shoves Goldust away from him. The crowd’s cheer dies in their throats. Before the bizarre one can even process the sudden change, Cody explodes forward and delivers a vicious, sickening low blow. As his older brother collapses in agony, Cody stands over him, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated venom. He drags Goldust up by his hair, screaming directly into his painted face, "THIS IS YOUR FAULT! YOU AND YOUR PAINT! YOU AND YOUR FREAK SHOW! YOU MADE ME THIS!" He hooks his brother’s arms and drives him into the mat with the most vicious Cross Rhodes he has ever delivered. But he’s not done. He picks up his brother's limp body and hits it again. And then a third time. He leans down over his brother’s unconscious form and, with his thumb, viciously smears the perfect black paint across Goldust’s face, a final, symbolic act of desecrating the very persona he blames for his own torment. The arena is filled with a deafening chorus of the most intense boos of the night as officials rush the ring to pull him away. Cody Rhodes stands tall over the obliterated body of his own brother, a cold, ruthless, and terrifying new heel, born from the ashes of a cosmic joke.

Commercial Break

(The show returns from commercial to the sound of the Bella Twins' theme music. The Divas Champion Nikki Bella, with her sister Brie at her side, walks to the ring with an unearned, arrogant swagger, proudly holding the championship as if their loss at WrestleMania the night before never happened. Nikki snatches a microphone, a condescending smirk on her face.) "Last night at WrestleMania," Nikki begins, "the two little Goth outcasts, AJ and Paige, got lucky. They had the fluke win of a lifetime. But I want you all to look right here... (she holds the Divas Championship high)... this is what matters. This proves that I am still the queen of this division. I am the power, I am the beauty, I am the standard. AJ and Paige can have their one little moment, because that's all they'll ever have. They are weird, pale, little misfits who are jealous that they can never be us." Just then, Paige’s visceral scream rips through the arena, and she emerges onto the stage, followed closely by the skipping, energetic AJ Lee. Paige gets a microphone, her eyes burning with intensity. "Jealous? Are you kidding me? The only thing we're jealous of is how you two can be so completely delusional! Last night wasn't a fluke, it was a reckoning! We proved that a couple of real arse-kickers are better than a couple of cheap, plastic, interchangeable dolls any day of the week!"

(AJ takes the mic, her trademark smirk in place.) "See, Nikki, the difference between you and us is very simple. You think that championship is an accessory, something that looks good in your reality show clips. To us, it represents being the best. And last night, we didn't just beat you; we proved that we are better than you. So, since I made you tap out before and Paige has your number, why don't you be a real champion for once and give one of us a shot right now?" Nikki and Brie laugh dismissively. "You don't get to make demands," Nikki scoffs. "You're not in our league." Suddenly, the authoritative theme of Stephanie McMahon hits, and she appears on the titantron from her office, her face a mask of cold, stern exhaustion. "ENOUGH!" she commands, her voice silencing all four women. "I have dealt with enough chaos and petulance for one night. You all want a chance? You all want to prove you're the best? Fine. You'll all get a chance. Tonight, there will be a Divas Battle Royal. Every single Diva in the locker room will have the opportunity to stake her claim. The last woman standing in that ring will be the new Number One Contender... and she will go on to face you, Nikki, for the Divas Championship at Extreme Rules!" The camera cuts back to the ring, where Nikki and Brie look absolutely furious at the decree, while AJ and Paige exchange a look of determined, competitive fire, realizing they now have to go through the entire division to get the prize they crave.

(The Bellas, AJ, and Paige are still in a tense standoff in the ring as the bell is about to ring for the impromptu Battle Royal. The Divas Champion, Nikki Bella, exits the ring to observe from the outside, a smug look on her face. The music hits for the rest of the division, and the ring quickly fills with a sea of competitors: Natalya, Naomi, Alicia Fox, Summer Rae, Cameron, Emma, and Brie Bella all slide into the ring, turning the confrontation into a chaotic free-for-all. Just as it seems everyone has arrived, the arena lights dim, and a powerful, regal, orchestral theme music the main roster audience has never heard before fills the building. All eyes turn to the entrance ramp as the name "CHARLOTTE" appears on the titantron. Out walks the genetically superior athlete, her presence alone commanding attention. The notoriously smart post-WrestleMania crowd explodes in a massive ovation and a roaring "NXT!" chant. Charlotte walks down the ramp not with the uncertainty of a rookie, but with the unmatched confidence and poise of a queen arriving to survey her new kingdom. She enters the ring, and the other Divas look on with a mixture of confusion and intimidation. Nikki looks on from ringside, scoffing at the "NXT girl," while Paige and AJ exchange a look of intrigued recognition. Charlotte simply smirks, and the bell rings, officially kicking off her main roster career in a match with championship implications.)

Divas Battle Royal
(Winner faces Nikki Bella for the Divas Championship at Extreme Rules)

Match Summary: The match immediately erupts into chaos, with alliances forming and dissolving in a matter of seconds. Brie Bella, works with ruthless efficiency, helping eliminate Cameron and Summer Rae. Naomi uses her incredible athleticism to avoid elimination, hitting a stunning Rear View on Alicia Fox that sends her tumbling over the top rope to the floor. All the while, the debuting Charlotte makes an immediate impact, using her raw power to effortlessly press slam Emma over the top rope. She then comes face-to-face with Natalya, and the two second-generation athletes have a brief, intense technical exchange before Charlotte overpowers her and sends her packing. Meanwhile, the fragile alliance between AJ Lee and Paige seems to be the strongest in the match, as they work together seamlessly. They successfully corner Brie Bella, and with a vicious superkick from Paige, they eliminate the champion's sister from the match. But in the heat of the moment, as AJ turns to celebrate, Paige’s competitive fire takes over. With a cold, calculating look in her eyes, she grabs her WrestleMania partner and shoves her over the top rope. AJ lands on the floor in stunned betrayal as Paige simply smirks, her eyes now firmly set on the prize.

The field has thinned, and it comes down to the final two: the treacherous Paige and the dominant rookie, Charlotte. Nikki Bella watches intently from ringside as the two future icons of the division trade stiff European uppercuts and forearms in the center of the ring. Paige, the more experienced of the two on the main roster, seems to gain the upper hand, trapping Charlotte in the corner and delivering a series of brutal knee strikes. She attempts to hoist Charlotte onto the top turnbuckle, but Charlotte powers out, placing Paige on the apron. Paige fires back with a forearm, but as she charges, Charlotte connects with a massive big boot that knocks Paige from the apron to the floor below. The bell rings, and in her debut match, Charlotte has won the Number One Contender's Battle Royal.

WINNER: Charlotte Flair

As Charlottes music plays, Nikki Bella immediately grabs her Divas Championship and gets up on the ring apron, holding the title high as she comes face-to-face with her new challenger. The tense stare-down between the champion and her new challenger continues for a long moment, the roar of the crowd serving as the backdrop. A slow, arrogant smirk spreads across Nikki Bella's face. She shakes her head dismissively, mouthing the words "You're not ready" to the rookie. Charlotte’s confident expression doesn't waver for a second; she simply keeps her finger pointed directly at the title, her message clear and unwavering. With a final, condescending laugh, Nikki hops off the apron and backs slowly up the ramp with her sister Brie, holding her championship high. In the ring, Charlotte stands tall, the undisputed number one contender, having put the entire Divas division on notice on her very first night.

Commercial Break

(The show returns from the commercial break to the relentlessly upbeat, gospel-style music of The New Day. Kofi Kingston, Big E, and Xavier Woods emerge, clapping enthusiastically, but are immediately met by a thunderous chorus of boos and “New Day Sucks!” chants from the savvy San Jose crowd, a reaction that causes their smiles to briefly falter. As they enter the ring, their clapping becoming more forced and aggressive, the arena lights suddenly dim to a pulsating blue and gold. A high-energy lucha-style theme song hits, and out burst the NXT Tag Team Champions, Kalisto and Sin Cara, The Lucha Dragons! The crowd erupts in a massive pop of recognition and excitement as Kalisto gets them to join his signature “LU-CHA! LU-CHA! LU-CHA!” chant, a stark and welcome contrast to the reception of their opponents.)

The New Day vs. The Lucha Dragons

Match Summary: The bell rings and the match is an immediate clash of styles, with Kalisto’s blinding speed completely overwhelming Kofi Kingston. The Lucha Dragons utilize a series of lightning-fast tags and breathtaking tandem offense, hitting a wheelbarrow splash/senton combination that sends a frustrated Kofi scrambling to his corner. Sin Cara tags in and continues the high-octane pace with a springboard crossbody and a beautiful Lionsault, but the momentum shifts when Big E makes a blind tag. The powerhouse of The New Day catches Sin Cara mid-air and slams him to the mat with a brutal belly-to-belly suplex. Now, The New Day finally has the match on their terms. With Xavier Woods shouting obnoxious encouragement from the outside, they use their strength and quick tags to isolate Sin Cara, grounding the high-flyer with a punishing, methodical assault. Big E’s massive splashes and Kofi’s precise dropkicks wear down the luchador, who desperately fights to get back to his corner as The New Day cuts off the ring.

After several minutes of taking a sustained beating, Sin Cara finally creates an opening, hitting Kofi with a desperation tilt-a-whirl backbreaker before making the hot tag to Kalisto. The smaller luchador explodes into the ring like a house on fire, a blur of aerial artistry as he takes down both Kofi and a charging Big E with a springboard corkscrew crossbody followed by a series of blistering kicks. As Kalisto sets up his finisher on Kofi, Xavier Woods provides a timely distraction from the apron, a clear sign of The New Day’s growing frustration. The plan backfires, however, as Sin Cara sees the interference and flies over the top rope with a spectacular dive, wiping out Woods on the floor! Kalisto uses the opening to dodge a Trouble in Paradise from Kofi, catching his leg and spinning him around before planting him in the center of the ring with the Salida del Sol. Not wasting a second, Sin Cara quickly ascends the turnbuckle and delivers a picture-perfect Swanton Bomb for the emphatic one-two-three.

WINNERS: The Lucha Dragons

The Lucha Dragons have won their stunning main roster debut, celebrating in the ring as a furious and defeated New Day regroups on the ramp, their clapping now replaced with looks of pure, unadulterated anger.

(The show returns from the commercial break, and the arena is immediately plunged into darkness. The chilling sound of a crow cawing echoes through the building, followed by the iconic, driving guitar riff of Sting’s classic theme music, sending a jolt of nostalgic electricity through the crowd. A single spotlight cuts through the darkness, revealing “The Icon” Sting, standing on the entrance ramp in his signature trench coat and black-and-white face paint, a black baseball bat resting on his shoulder. He walks to the ring with a grim purpose, the events of the previous night clearly weighing on him. He enters the ring and takes a microphone, his voice a low, serious rasp.) "Last night, at WrestleMania," Sting begins, "I went to war. I fought Triple H, I fought D-Generation X... and in the end, after all was said and done, I lost. I came up short. But as I stand here tonight, I realize that was never my war to begin with. I didn't come to WWE to refight battles from a bygone era. I didn't come here for corporate power or for COO's. I came here for one reason, and one reason only. I came here for an icon. A man who has been the gatekeeper of this yard for decades, a man whose legend is matched by no other. I came here for the conscience of WWE... The Phenom... I came here for The Undertaker." (The crowd erupts in a deafening roar of approval.) "Last night, you returned from the darkness and proved that the reaper is still alive and well. So now you know I am here, and I know you are here. So I am laying down the challenge. One year from now. Dallas, Texas. WrestleMania 32. The Vigilante versus The Deadman. The Icon versus The Phenom. It's the last great dream match, and it's the only match that matters. So what do you say, Deadman? Show me a sign."

(Sting waits in the center of the ring as the crowd buzzes with anticipation. Suddenly, the arena is plunged into absolute darkness. A loud, resounding GONG echoes through the building, sending a shockwave through the audience, who erupts in a massive ovation. Another GONG. A third. Then, the familiar, haunting druid chants begin to play as thick, purple smoke billows from the entrance ramp. From the heart of the smoke, a single, solitary silhouette emerges. It’s The Undertaker. Dressed in his classic hat and coat, The Deadman begins his slow, methodical, iconic walk to the ring as bolts of lightning flash on the titantron. He takes what feels like an eternity to reach the ring, his presence commanding a unique mixture of fear and reverence from the thousands in attendance. He slowly ascends the steel steps, enters the ring, and comes face-to-face with Sting for the first time in history. The two legends stare each other down, two titans from different worlds finally colliding. The Undertaker slowly removes his hat, his eyes rolling back into his head in his signature taunt before they lock onto Sting. After a long, tense silence, The Undertaker raises a microphone, his voice the familiar, deep, demonic growl.) "You have a lot of nerve, Sting, to come into my yard and call out the reaper. For years, you stood as the last soldier of a fallen empire. I have buried them all. But a challenge of this magnitude... a battle between two icons of our kind... does not deserve to die in the darkness of what could have been. At WrestleMania... your soul will be mine. I accept." (The Undertaker lowers his microphone, and slowly points his thumb up at the rafters, the symbolic location of the WrestleMania sign. Sting responds by pointing his black baseball bat directly at The Undertaker’s heart. The challenge has been made, and the acceptance has been sealed. The two legends continue their intense stare-down as the show continues.)

Commercial Break

(The camera cuts to a tense scene in the trainer’s room backstage. A furious Cesaro is sitting on a table, an ice pack pressed against his shoulder, while his tag team partner Tyson Kidd paces back and forth in front of him, Natalya standing between them trying to play peacemaker.) "Don't you put this on me!" Kidd seethes, pointing a finger at his partner. "The plan was perfect! The ref was distracted, you had him dead to rights, and you let him shove you into me! You got clumsy!" Cesaro rips the ice pack off his shoulder and stands up, getting nose-to-nose with Kidd, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I had him. I didn't need your help, I didn't need your distractions! I was stronger, I was better! You got involved, you got yourself knocked off the apron, and you cost me the United States Championship! Fact!" Just as the two champions are about to come to blows, a new presence interrupts them. The Lucha Dragons, Kalisto and Sin Cara, walk into the frame, fresh off their spectacular debut victory. Kalisto, brimming with confidence, looks at the arguing champions. "It sounds like the Tag Team Champions have problems," he says, a smirk on his face. Kidd and Cesaro immediately stop their bickering and turn their unified anger towards the newcomers. "You get one lucky win on your first night and you think you can just walk in here and interrupt us?" Kidd scoffs. Kalisto's smirk doesn't fade. "We came to Monday Night Raw to make an impact. We won. You challenged for a title... and you lost. We are the future. And we want a shot... at the champions." He gestures towards the title belts Kidd and Cesaro are holding. Kidd and Cesaro exchange a look, their internal conflict momentarily forgotten in the face of a common challenge. Cesaro gives the luchadors a long, cold, dismissive stare, while Kidd simply laughs. "Get out of here before you get hurt." Kalisto and Sin Cara don't move, a silent standoff ensuing between the four men as the battle lines for the tag team division are clearly drawn.

Luke Harper vs. Dean Ambrose

Match Summary: The bell rings, and the match between Dean Ambrose and Luke Harper immediately descends into the chaotic, hard-hitting slobberknocker that everyone expected. It's clear from the outset that Ambrose is running on fumes, still feeling the effects of his war with John Cena earlier in the night. He moves with a pained stiffness, clutching his ribs, but fights with the sheer force of will that defines him. Harper, the fresher and larger man, quickly takes advantage, dominating the early going with his unorthodox and powerful offense. He brutalizes Ambrose with a punishing gator roll on the outside, followed by a massive big boot that sends the Lunatic Fringe tumbling over the announce table. Back in the ring, Harper continues the assault, grounding Ambrose and methodically picking him apart, all while wearing a sadistic, wild-eyed grin. Every time Ambrose attempts to mount a comeback with a flurry of punches, Harper cuts him off with a single, devastating blow, like a thunderous superkick or a jaw-jarring throat thrust, leaving the exhausted Ambrose looking up at the lights, his chances fading with every passing moment.

Fighting on pure adrenaline and instinct, Dean Ambrose begins to claw his way back into the fight. He escapes a powerbomb attempt by frantically punching Harper in the head, then uses the ropes to catapult himself back into a desperate, swinging neckbreaker. He builds a head of steam, hitting a running bulldog and a series of wild, unkempt clotheslines, feeding off the energy of the roaring crowd. He climbs to the top rope, but a weary Harper knocks his legs out from under him, leaving him crotched on the turnbuckle. Harper climbs up for a superplex, but Ambrose fights him off, sending him crashing to the mat. Ambrose follows with a top-rope elbow drop to a standing Harper, a high-risk move that takes out both men. They struggle to their feet, and Harper spins for his discus lariat, but Ambrose ducks underneath it, bounces off the ropes, and connects with a huge Lunatic Lariat of his own. Both competitors are down. Ambrose is the first to stir, slowly dragging Harper's limp body up, and with a final, guttural yell, plants him with the Dirty Deeds for the hard-fought, and incredibly costly, victory.

WINNER: Dean Ambrose

As Ambrose's music plays, he is too exhausted to even celebrate. He slumps against the ropes, trying to catch his breath as the referee raises his hand in victory. Suddenly, a blur of white and red sprints down the entrance ramp and slides into the ring. There is no music, only the shocked gasp of the crowd. It’s Sheamus, back for the first time in months, but he is completely transformed. His hair is styled into a stiff, aggressive mohawk, and his beard is braided with beads, giving him the look of a Celtic marauder. Ambrose, completely spent, turns around with a look of pure exhaustion, only to be met with a thunderous Brogue Kick that connects with a sickening crack, nearly taking his head off his shoulders. The impact is devastating, and Ambrose is out cold before he even hits the canvas. Sheamus stands over the lifeless body of the man who just won a grueling match, not with a triumphant pose, but with a cruel, sadistic grin on his face. He grabs a microphone from the announce table, gets in Ambrose's face and screams, "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!" before throwing the mic down, his brutal new attitude making a definitive and terrifying statement.

(The camera pans across the now eerily quiet backstage parking garage, focusing on the very spot on the concrete where Triple H was laid out by Brock Lesnar hours earlier. Into this same garage, the black Escalade cautiously pulls back in. The doors open and a still-shaken J&J Security detail emerges, nervously scanning every corner before Seth Rollins finally steps out, clutching his WWE World Heavyweight Championship like a life preserver. Assured that the coast is clear, his usual arrogant smirk returns as he walks into a nearby corridor where his two behemoths, Kane and The Big Show, are waiting in grim silence. "Alright," Rollins says, his voice dripping with condescending authority, "the beast has been dealt with. Now, for the business at hand. Stephanie wants Orton and Reigns neutralized. I want them erased. I want you two to dismantle them so completely that the thought of coming after my championship becomes a physical impossibility. We are The Authority. Tonight, we re-establish order. No mistakes." The two giants give a slow, menacing nod, their mission clear. Meanwhile, just down the hall in The Authority's office, a dejected Stephanie McMahon is on the phone, her voice hushed as she tries to get an update on her husband's condition. The door suddenly swings open and in walks the imposing figure of Mr. McMahon. Stephanie’s eyes go wide with shock. "Dad? What are you doing here?" Vince McMahon fixes his daughter with an intense, unblinking stare, his presence immediately taking all the air out of the room. "I saw what happened," he says, his voice a low rumble of absolute power. "Your husband is in the hospital. Your place is with him. Go." Stephanie starts to protest, "But the show, I have to-" Vince cuts her off. "I started this show. I think I can handle the last thirty minutes. I'm taking over from here. Now go be with your family." It's not a suggestion; it's an order wrapped in paternal concern. A look of exhausted relief washes over Stephanie's face. She gives a small nod, grabs her purse, and quickly leaves, leaving The Chairman alone. Vince McMahon walks over to the desk, looks at the live monitor of the arena, and a slow, calculating grin spreads across his face as he takes his seat back in the director's chair of his empire.)

Commercial Break

Roman Reigns & Randy Orton vs. Kane & The Big Show

Match Summary: The bell rings for the main event, and the tension between the forced partners, Randy Orton and Roman Reigns, is immediately palpable. They argue in the corner over who should start the match, a delay that the veteran giants of The Authority, Kane and Big Show, happily exploit. Big Show flattens Orton with a massive chop, and the two behemoths immediately take control, using their experience and immense power to isolate Orton in their corner. For several agonizing minutes, they pummel The Viper with a brutal and methodical assault, using quick tags to keep a fresh man in the ring at all times. Big Show chokes Orton over the ropes while Kane directs traffic, with every attempted comeback from Orton being cut off by a thunderous big boot or a crushing body slam. Roman Reigns can only watch from the apron, growing more and more frustrated as his "partner" is systematically dismantled, a sight that brings a look of pure, unadulterated glee to Seth Rollins and J&J Security, who are shown watching the carnage on a monitor backstage.

After what feels like an eternity, Orton finally creates an opening, dodging a charging Kane and sending him crashing into the turnbuckle before making a desperate, lunging tag to Reigns. The Samoan powerhouse explodes into the ring like a house on fire, flooring Kane with a leaping clothesline before dropping the incoming Big Show with a thunderous Samoan Drop. He unleashes a series of corner clotheslines on Kane and floors him with a Superman Punch, the crowd roaring with every blow. The chaos breaks down as all four men enter the ring. Big Show recovers and winds up for a KO Punch on Reigns, but Roman ducks, and Orton, who has just gotten back to his feet, is right behind him. Reigns, seeing an opening to take out Kane, charges across the ring for a Spear, but the Big Red Machine pulls his partner out of the way at the last possible second. Unable to stop his momentum, Reigns plows forward, crashing directly into his own partner and cutting Randy Orton in half with an accidental, devastating Spear. As the crowd groans in disbelief, Kane and Big Show seize the opportunity, with Show chokeslamming the already-downed Orton. Kane covers him, but Reigns, furious at his mistake, dives in to break up the pin just in time. Reigns unloads on both giants with a flurry of strikes, but the numbers game is too much. Just as Big Show grabs him by the throat, Orton, running on pure, uncut rage from being speared, stirs and delivers a timely low blow to Kane. He then hits the ropes and drops Big Show with a thunderous RKO! Kane stumbles to his feet, dazed, and walks directly into a massive Spear from Roman Reigns! Reigns makes the cover, the referee counts the three, and somehow, the dysfunctional duo has won.

WINNERS: Randy Orton and Roman Reigns

As Reigns' music plays, he gets to his feet and turns to face Orton, the tension thick between them. But before a word can be exchanged, Orton strikes, whipping around and planting his partner with a lightning-quick RKO out of nowhere, standing tall over the man he was just forced to team with. The referee raises the arms of the battered but victorious partners, but the alliance, born of pure necessity, has a lifespan of mere seconds. As Roman Reigns turns to survey the carnage, Randy Orton strikes, a viper repaying the debt of the accidental spear from earlier. With whiplash-like precision, he hooks Reigns’s head and drops him with a lightning-quick RKO out of nowhere, planting his partner face-first on the canvas to a shocked roar from the crowd. Before Orton can even stand over his handiwork, the triumphant music of Seth Rollins hits. The WWE World Heavyweight Champion emerges, a wicked grin on his face, flanked by J&J Security. He directs traffic as the recovering Kane and Big Show join him in swarming the ring like sharks smelling blood. The five-on-two assault is merciless and swift. Kane and Show brutalize the already exhausted Orton while J&J put the boots to the unconscious Reigns. They hold Orton up, forcing him to watch as Rollins delivers a sickening Curb Stomp to Reigns. Rollins then turns his attention to Orton, laughing in his face before driving his skull into the mat with a second, emphatic Curb Stomp, standing tall over the bodies of his two greatest threats with the championship held high.

Just as Rollins begins to celebrate his apparent checkmate, the iconic sound of shattering glass fills the arena and Mr. McMahon’s “No Chance in Hell” theme music brings the entire building to its feet. The Chairman of the Board emerges onto the stage, power-walking with his signature swagger, a look of stern disapproval etched on his face. He enters the ring, and the members of The Authority instinctively back away, their celebration cut short by the arrival of the ultimate power. Vince gets right in a shocked Seth Rollins’s face and takes the microphone. "Let me make something perfectly clear," he growls, his voice rumbling with absolute power. "I've been watching this chaos unfold all night. There seems to be some confusion around here about who is truly in charge. So let me spell it out for you. There is only one... TRUE... authority in this company, and you are looking at him! Now, I love my daughter, and I certainly wish my son-in-law a speedy recovery. But what's best for my family is not always what's best for business! And business, ladies and gentlemen, is about to pick up! These two men, Roman Reigns and Randy Orton, in my eyes have earned the right to a championship opportunity!" Vince turns his gaze from a horrified Rollins to the roaring crowd. "So at Extreme Rules, it will be Seth Rollins... defending his WWE World Heavyweight Championship... against Roman Reigns... AND against Randy Orton... in a TRIPLE THREAT MATCH!"

Vince McMahon drops the microphone with a thud and exits the ring, his decree made absolute. Seth Rollins is left in the ring, absolutely apoplectic. He throws a tantrum, screaming at Vince’s back that it’s not fair, that he’s the champion, completely losing his composure and leaving himself vulnerable. From out of nowhere, a stirring Roman Reigns explodes to his feet and cuts the champion in half with a massive Spear! As Rollins lies unconscious, Big Show lumbers in to make the save, but he is immediately met by a lightning-fast RKO from a recovering Randy Orton! Kane and J&J Security charge the ring one last time, but they are met by the now-instinctively-united force of Reigns and Orton, who easily dismantle them with a flurry of Superman Punches and RKOs, clearing the ring of all Authority members. The ring is littered with the bodies of their defeated foes. All that remains are the two victors... the two survivors... the two number one contenders. Roman Reigns and Randy Orton get to their feet, lock eyes from across the ring, a silent promise of the brutal three-way war to come as Monday Night Raw goes off the air.

WRESTLEWIZARD

presents...

EXTREME RULES

Chicago, IL | AllState Arena
April 26th, 2015

*CONFIRMED CARD

WWE WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
Seth Rollins vs. Roman Reigns vs. Randy Orton

DIVAS CHAMPIONSHIP
Nikki Bella (c) vs. Charlotte Flair

NEXT POST/UPDATE: NXT 4.1.15 RECAP

Stojy · Oct 18, 2025

I think you did a good job with the response from The Heist of the century here. Seth having his victory speech simply had to happen, and everything was relatively on point. The interruptions from the three men chasing Seth all worked effectively, before all hell broke loose. I LOVED Brock going nuts after Seth got away, although maybe the F5 on the concrete felt like a bit much for Triple H to take. Still, it's smart booking as it's a valid reason to get Brock off our screens, and he can come back in a few months chasing Seth. Main event was solid enough, although not sure how many more Authority vs. faces tag team matches I can handle at this point. Vinnie Mac appearance is a nice surprise for the post Raw Mania, and the triple threat feels like the most logical way moving forward. Again, I think you kept the momentum rolling which is important.

Bryan over Barrett was fine and Bryan is the perfect, awesome wrestler to focus on defending his title often. Ziggler was still credible at this point so is a fine choice for first opponent. I understood the explanation, but I'm not the biggest fan of a best of seven series just getting announced out of nowhere. I prefer there being a proper reason for the stipulation being used. For example, if they had traded victories, or had some draws, it makes sense they need to determine this in a best of seven, as opposed to it just being suggested because...

The call ups from NXT were also done really well tonight. Neville call up and win over Miz feels like a good debut for him. Miz's promo beforehand and then the attack on Mizdown afterwards was good. This turn was due to happen, hopefully you can make it work.

Rusev and Lana having their first sign of issues. I'm just making note of that for future reference. This made it super obvious that will get more Cena/Rusev, which I'm okay with. Hoping Rusev can get his win back. Cena kick starting the open challenge in this universe is fine, as was the match with Cesaro. Not sure we needed two open challenges on the same show though (Miz earlier and now Cena).

After his somewhat surprising loss, the switch of characters from Stardust to Cody was fantastic. This was probably my favourite part of the night. The writing with the description of him desperately clawing at his face to get the paint off, and then the turn on his brother. This was epic.

Another big call up with Charlotte making a huge impression, getting the win. Nikki vs. Charlotte should be fun, although I am intrigued to see how characters like Paige and AJ react to getting pushed to the side.

Lucha Bros winning their first match on the main roster kind of had to happen as well. Can't complain.

Sting/Taker segment wasn't anything overly special but it's just such a big deal that it doesn't matter. I guess with all the mind games and tricks, for a first interaction, you were probably a little limited. But still, this is huge news, arguably the last realistic dream match left so it will be awesome to get it. I do think it will be a challenge for you to keep this prominent for an entire year.

And finally, another big moment with the return of Sheamus and him attacking Ambrose. Solid stuff.

I have to give you credit, with the call ups, the returns, the Cody and Miz moments, the Sting/Taker challenge, you nailed this. Definitely felt like a post Mania Raw. Good work.

WrestleWizard · Oct 22, 2025

NXT RECAP: APRIL 1, 2015

Full Sail University - Winter Park, FL

Fresh off their successful WrestleMania Week appearances in San Jose, the Superstars of NXT returned to Full Sail University with the same energy and intensity that had the WWE Universe buzzing throughout the weekend. Wednesday night's action-packed episode featured the highly-anticipated return of Sami Zayn, continued dominance from Rhyno, and a show-stealing 2-out-of-3 Falls Match between Hideo Itami and Tyler Breeze.

OPENING SEGMENT: SAMI ZAYN RETURNS WITH FIRE

The familiar ska-infused guitar riff of Sami Zayn's entrance music hit the Full Sail University speakers, and the capacity crowd exploded with deafening cheers. The former NXT Champion emerged through the curtain, his trademark beanie pulled tight over his head, but there was something different in his demeanor. Gone was the perpetual smile that usually lit up his face—replaced instead with a look of steely determination and barely contained fury.

Zayn made his way down the ramp, slapping hands with fans on both sides of the aisle, but his eyes remained fixed straight ahead. The roar of the NXT Universe was so loud that it took nearly thirty seconds before the chant became clear: "WELCOME BACK! WELCOME BACK! WELCOME BACK!"

Entering the ring, Zayn accepted a microphone from ring announcer JoJo and paced back and forth for several moments, letting the crowd's energy wash over him. Finally, he raised the mic to speak, and Full Sail fell silent.

"It's good to be home," Zayn began, his voice thick with emotion. The crowd erupted again, forcing him to pause. "I just got back from representing NXT in Abu Dhabi—an incredible experience, wrestling in front of fans halfway around the world who love this sport as much as all of you do."

The fans cheered, but Zayn's expression darkened.

"But I'll be honest with you," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "The entire time I was overseas... the entire time I was on that long flight... the entire time I was trying to recover from what happened at TakeOver: Rival... there was only ONE thing on my mind."

He paused, letting the tension build.

"Kevin Owens."

The mention of the name brought a cascade of boos from the Full Sail faithful. Zayn nodded, acknowledging their reaction.

"The man who attacked me after our match—the man who powerbombed me on the ring apron when I couldn't defend myself—that man is not my friend. That man is not the Kevin Steen I grew up with in the independent wrestling scene. That man is someone I don't even recognize anymore."

Zayn's voice grew more intense with each word.

"Kevin, you made this personal. You crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. So I'm standing here tonight to announce that I am officially invoking my rematch clause. I don't care when, I don't care where—but I'm coming for that NXT Championship. And Kevin, when I get my hands on you, I'm going to make you regret the day you decided to stab me in the back."

The crowd exploded with chants of "OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ!" as Zayn dropped the microphone and his music hit again. The statement had been made—Sami Zayn was back, and he wanted revenge.

MATCH 1: RHYNO VS. LOCAL COMPETITOR (Marcus Louis)

The lights dimmed and the ominous opening of Rhyno's theme music pounded through the speakers. The Man Beast emerged from behind the curtain, his eyes cold and focused, rolling his shoulders as he stalked toward the ring like a predator approaching wounded prey. Rhyno's appearance in NXT had been nothing short of dominant, and tonight looked to be no different.

Already in the ring stood Marcus Louis, a local competitor from the Florida wrestling scene who looked understandably nervous. The indie wrestler tried to maintain a brave face, bouncing on his toes and stretching against the ropes, but the size and power differential was obvious.

The bell rang.

Louis rushed forward immediately, perhaps hoping to catch Rhyno off-guard with speed and aggression. He landed a few quick forearms to Rhyno's chest—shots that would stagger most men. The Man Beast didn't even flinch. He simply grabbed Louis by the throat and flung him across the ring like a rag doll. Louis crashed hard into the turnbuckles and crumpled to the mat.

Rhyno stalked forward slowly, methodically, allowing Louis to pull himself up using the ropes. The moment Louis turned around, Rhyno grabbed him by the arm and whipped him to the opposite corner with devastating force. Louis hit the turnbuckles so hard that he bounced forward—directly into a massive belly-to-belly suplex that sent him flying halfway across the ring.

The Full Sail crowd, initially sympathetic to the overmatched local competitor, began to rally behind him with supportive chants. Louis, showing tremendous heart, pulled himself to his feet once more. He threw a desperate punch that landed flush on Rhyno's jaw. The ECW Original's head barely moved. He smiled—not a friendly smile, but the grin of a predator about to finish the hunt.

Rhyno backed into the far corner, crouching low, his fingers splayed and touching the mat. The entire arena knew what was coming. Louis stumbled toward the center of the ring, dazed and disoriented. Rhyno exploded forward with frightening speed for a man his size.

GORE! GORE! GORE!

The impact was sickening. Rhyno's shoulder drove into Louis's midsection with the force of a car crash, folding the smaller man completely in half. Both competitors crashed to the mat, but only Rhyno moved—hooking the leg for an academic pinfall.

Winner: Rhyno via pinfall (2:47)

But Rhyno wasn't finished. He stood over the fallen Louis and demanded a microphone. His breathing was heavy, not from exertion but from barely controlled aggression.

"Let me make something very clear to everyone in the back," Rhyno growled, his voice echoing through Full Sail. "I didn't come to NXT to make friends. I didn't come here to put over young talent. I came here for ONE reason and one reason only—the NXT Championship."

He pointed toward the entrance ramp.

"It doesn't matter if it's Kevin Owens. It doesn't matter if it's Sami Zayn. It doesn't matter if it's anybody else who thinks they have a claim to that title. That championship belongs to me, and I will GORE through anyone—and I mean ANYONE—who gets in my way."

Rhyno dropped the microphone and his music hit again as the crowd buzzed with nervous energy. A new threat had emerged in the NXT Championship picture.

BACKSTAGE SEGMENT: WILLIAM REGAL'S ANNOUNCEMENT

The broadcast cut backstage to the office of NXT General Manager William Regal. The distinguished British gentleman sat behind his desk, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie, his hands folded in front of him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement regarding the NXT Tag Team Championship situation," Regal began in his distinctive Manchester accent. "As you all know, former champions Blake and Murphy were forced to vacate the titles two weeks ago due to Wesley Blake suffering a shoulder injury that will require surgery and several months of recovery time."

Regal's expression grew more animated as he continued.

"The tag team division here in NXT is as competitive and talented as any division in all of professional wrestling. Rather than simply appoint new champions, I believe the right thing to do—the fair thing to do—is to hold a tournament to crown NEW NXT Tag Team Champions."

The camera zoomed in slightly as Regal delivered the details.

"Starting next week, eight teams will compete in a single-elimination tournament. The finals will take place at our next NXT TakeOver special, where we will crown new champions. I encourage all teams on the NXT roster to see me before next week's show to secure their spot. May the best team win."

Regal nodded curtly, and the broadcast cut back to ringside where commentators Rich Brennan, Corey Graves, and Byron Saxton discussed the implications of this major announcement.

MATCH 2: BAYLEY VS. EMMA

Emma's music hit first—a darker, more aggressive theme than the bubbly entrance music she had used as a fan favorite. The Australian emerged wearing all black, her hair pulled back severely, sneering at the fans who had once adored her. The "evil Emma" transformation had been complete for several weeks now, and her obsession with changing Bayley's positive attitude had become an all-consuming mission.

Gone were the dance moves and the goofy charm. Emma strode to the ring with purpose, ignoring the boos and jeers from the Full Sail crowd. She climbed through the ropes and immediately began stretching in the corner, her eyes locked on the entrance ramp.

The arena went dark for a moment, then exploded with color and energy as Bayley's entrance music blasted through the speakers. The most positive Superstar in WWE emerged with her arms spread wide, wearing her signature side ponytail decorated with colorful elastics, one of her inflatable tube men in hand. Despite Emma's best efforts to darken her outlook, Bayley remained relentlessly cheerful.

Bayley hugged fans at ringside, handed her tube man to a young girl in the front row, and slapped hands all the way around the ring before entering. She waved enthusiastically at Emma, who responded with a disgusted sneer.

The bell rang.

Emma immediately charged forward with a forearm smash that caught Bayley off-guard, sending her stumbling backward into the corner. The Australian followed up with a series of rapid stomps, her aggression startling in its intensity. The referee forced a break, and Emma backed away with her hands raised innocently—only to charge right back in with a running shoulder block to Bayley's midsection.

"This is what toughness looks like, Bayley!" Emma shouted, grabbing her former friend by the hair and slamming her face-first into the middle turnbuckle. "This is what you NEED to be!"

Emma whipped Bayley to the opposite corner and charged in behind her, leaping up to deliver her signature Emma-mite Sandwich—a running corner splash that sandwiched Bayley between Emma's body and the turnbuckles. Bayley slumped down in the corner, and Emma dragged her to the center of the ring, floating over into a lateral press.

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Emma immediately transitioned, spinning Bayley onto her stomach and locking in the Dil-Emma—her modified Indian deathlock submission. Emma wrenched back on Bayley's leg while pulling her arm, bending the hugger into an unnatural position. The referee dropped down to check on Bayley, who screamed in pain but shook her head furiously—refusing to quit.

The Full Sail crowd began to rally behind Bayley, clapping rhythmically and chanting "BAY-LEY! BAY-LEY!" The positive energy seemed to fuel the fan favorite, who began to power toward the ropes. Emma wrenched back harder, but Bayley's determination won out—she lunged forward and grabbed the bottom rope, forcing the break.

Emma released the hold but immediately grabbed Bayley by the ponytail, yanking her to her feet. The referee issued a warning, which Emma ignored, whipping Bayley into the ropes. On the rebound, Bayley ducked under a clothesline attempt and hit the opposite ropes. She came back with a flying forearm that caught Emma flush on the jaw, sending both women crashing to the mat.

Both competitors were down, and the referee began his count. At seven, both women stirred. At eight, they reached their knees. At nine, both were on their feet, and the crowd roared its approval. Bayley was first to strike, landing a series of quick jabs that backed Emma into the corner. The hugger charged in, but Emma got her boots up, catching Bayley in the face.

Emma climbed to the second rope, clearly looking for some high-impact move to put Bayley away. She leaped off with a crossbody block—but Bayley caught her! The strength of the hugger surprised everyone as she held Emma in position, then shifted her weight and drove Emma down with a modified slam. Both women were down again.

Bayley was first to her feet this time, feeding off the energy of the crowd. She pulled Emma up and whipped her into the corner. Bayley charged in with her signature running knee strike to Emma's midsection, driving the air from her former friend's lungs. Emma staggered forward, and Bayley grabbed her from behind, looking for the Bayley-to-Belly suplex.

But Emma blocked it, throwing elbows backward that caught Bayley in the side of the head. Emma spun around and kicked Bayley in the gut, then grabbed her in a front facelock—possibly looking for her Emma-Lock DDT finisher. Before she could execute, Bayley twisted free and shoved Emma backward. Emma stumbled but maintained her balance, turning around—directly into another running knee from Bayley!

Emma dropped to her knees, clearly dazed. Bayley backed into the corner, the crowd getting louder with each passing second. She charged forward for her running hugplax—but Emma rolled out of the way at the last second! Bayley crashed chest-first into the second turnbuckle and staggered backward.

Emma grabbed Bayley in a schoolgirl roll-up, but she didn't hook the legs properly. Instead, as she held Bayley's shoulders down, Emma began to perform her old entrance dance—the bobbing, goofing movements that she had once used to entertain the fans. It was a mocking gesture, showing how beneath her Bayley's positivity was.

But the showboating cost Emma precious seconds. Bayley's legs weren't hooked, and she was able to shift her weight. In one smooth motion, Bayley reversed the pin, rolling Emma onto her back and pressing her shoulders to the mat. The referee dropped down.

ONE!

Emma's eyes went wide with shock.

TWO!

Emma tried to kick out, but Bayley had her leverage now.

THREE!

Winner: Bayley via pinfall (8:23)

Bayley's music hit, and she rolled out of the ring quickly, her arms raised in victory. Emma sat up in the ring, slamming her fists on the mat in frustration, screaming at the referee that it was a fast count (it wasn't). Bayley hugged fans at ringside as she made her way up the ramp, her positive attitude unshaken despite Emma's attempts to change her.

BACKSTAGE INTERVIEW: TYLER BREEZE

Backstage, NXT interviewer Devin Taylor stood with Tyler Breeze, who was admiring himself in a jewel-encrusted selfie stick, snapping photos and checking his hair between shots.

"Tyler Breeze, tonight you face Hideo Itami in a 2-out-of-3 Falls Match in the main event," Devin began. "What are your thoughts going into—"

"Excuse me, excuse me," Breeze interrupted, not even looking at her. He turned his selfie stick toward Devin's face, grimaced, and turned it back to himself. "Devin, I know you're trying to do your job, but please—try not to let your uggo energy interfere with my pre-match preparation."

"I just wanted to ask—"

"You want to know what Prince Pretty thinks about tonight?" Breeze struck a pose, blowing a kiss to his phone's camera. "I think that Hideo Itami—while certainly not as gorgeous as Tyler Breeze, mmm—has had some success here in NXT. But tonight, in front of all these uggos at Full Sail, I'm going to prove once and for all that beauty trumps brutality. Two out of three falls? Please. I'll beat him two straight and still have time to take post-match selfies with my victory."

Breeze adjusted his fur-lined ring jacket and strutted away, leaving Devin shaking her head.

MATCH 3: JASON JORDAN VS. TYE DILLINGER

The entrance music of Jason Jordan hit, and the former amateur wrestling standout emerged from behind the curtain with a focused expression. Jordan had recently split from his tag team partner Tye Dillinger, and this would be their first singles encounter since the dissolution of their partnership. Jordan wore simple black trunks and knee pads, every inch the serious athlete.

As Jordan made his way to the ring, highlights played on the screen showing the tag team's breakup—Dillinger's frustration with their losses, Jordan's insistence they could turn it around, and finally Dillinger's betrayal with a superkick that left Jordan laid out in the ring several weeks prior.

Jordan entered the ring and stretched against the ropes, his eyes never leaving the entrance ramp.

Tye Dillinger's music hit next, and "The Perfect 10" emerged to a chorus of boos from the Full Sail crowd. Dillinger, dressed in his trunks with "10" emblazoned across the back, held his arms up in his signature pose—both hands forming the number "10." The crowd's hostility didn't seem to bother him at all. In fact, he smiled as if their hatred was simply jealousy of his perfection.

As Dillinger approached the ring, he made a show of removing his entrance jacket very slowly, folding it carefully and handing it to a ringside attendant with specific instructions on how to care for it. Jordan watched all of this with barely concealed impatience.

The bell rang.

Jordan charged forward immediately, clearly having no interest in his former partner's mind games. Dillinger was caught off-guard by the aggression, and Jordan drove him backward into the corner with a series of hard right hands. The referee forced a break, and as Jordan backed away, Dillinger quickly rolled out of the ring to regroup.

The Full Sail crowd booed as Dillinger walked around ringside, shaking his head and pointing to his temple as if to say "I'm too smart for this." Jordan, showing surprising patience, simply waited in the center of the ring, watching Dillinger circle the ring.

Finally, after a count of seven, Dillinger climbed back onto the apron. As Jordan approached, Dillinger dropped down again, causing Jordan to pull up short. The crowd's boos grew louder. Dillinger smiled and climbed up again. This time, when Jordan approached, Dillinger entered the ring through the ropes.

The two former partners circled each other warily. They locked up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and Jordan—the superior amateur wrestler—immediately transitioned into a side headlock. He squeezed tight, grinding Dillinger's head against his ribcage. Dillinger tried to shoot him off into the ropes, but Jordan dropped down to one knee, maintaining the hold and increasing the pressure.

Dillinger changed tactics, pushing Jordan toward the ropes. This time Jordan released the hold and hit the opposite ropes. On the rebound, Dillinger dropped down flat, forcing Jordan to hop over him. Jordan hit the ropes again, and Dillinger leapfrogged. Jordan came back a third time, and Dillinger caught him with a picture-perfect dropkick that sent Jordan stumbling backward through the ropes to the floor.

As Jordan pulled himself up on the outside, Dillinger measured him and charged—diving through the ropes with a suicide dive! Both men crashed into the barricade, and the Full Sail crowd, despite their dislike of Dillinger, had to acknowledge the high-risk move with appreciative applause.

Dillinger was first to his feet, and he grabbed Jordan, rolling him back into the ring. Dillinger climbed onto the apron and then to the top rope, balancing carefully. Jordan was still down in the center of the ring. Dillinger stood tall, holding his arms up in his "Perfect 10" pose even while balanced precariously on the top turnbuckle—and that showboating cost him. Jordan suddenly sprang to his feet and rushed the corner, shoving Dillinger's legs out from under him. The Perfect 10 fell, crotching himself on the top turnbuckle with a sickening impact that made every man in Full Sail wince sympathetically.

Jordan climbed to the second rope and hooked Dillinger for a superplex. He lifted—but Dillinger blocked it, holding onto the top rope for dear life. Jordan tried again, but Dillinger countered with a series of punches to Jordan's ribs. The shots weakened Jordan's grip enough for Dillinger to shove him off. Jordan fell backward and crashed to the mat.

Dillinger stood up on the top rope, steadied himself, and leaped off with a diving elbow drop! He crashed down across Jordan's chest and immediately hooked the leg.

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Dillinger slapped the mat in frustration but quickly pulled Jordan up. He whipped Jordan into the corner and charged in with a running forearm smash. The impact was stiff enough that commentator Corey Graves noted it sounded like "a gunshot." Jordan's head snapped back, and he slumped in the corner.

Dillinger grabbed Jordan's wrist and set up for another Irish whip, but Jordan reversed it—sending Dillinger to the opposite corner instead. Jordan charged in behind him, but Dillinger got his boots up. Jordan caught them, however, and yanked Dillinger out of the corner, causing the Perfect 10 to land flat on his back. Jordan maintained control of Dillinger's legs and stepped through—looking for a submission hold!

Jordan tried to turn Dillinger over for a Boston crab, but Dillinger fought it, using his leg strength to prevent the turn. The two men struggled in the center of the ring, with Jordan trying to flip Dillinger while Dillinger desperately held his ground. Finally, Dillinger used his core strength to do a sit-up and shove Jordan away with both feet.

Both men scrambled to their feet. Dillinger swung wildly with a clothesline, but Jordan ducked under it and grabbed Dillinger from behind in a waistlock. In one smooth motion showcasing his amateur wrestling background, Jordan arched backward and launched Dillinger overhead with a German suplex! Dillinger landed hard on the back of his head and neck, rolling through to his stomach.

Jordan was on him immediately, floating over and locking in a front facelock, controlling his former partner's head and preventing him from standing. When Dillinger tried to power up, Jordan adjusted his position and took him down with a beautiful mat wrestling sequence, ending up in a side control position. The former amateur wrestling standout was in his element now, using superior technique to neutralize Dillinger's offense.

Dillinger finally managed to scramble to the ropes, grabbing the bottom rope and forcing a break. Jordan released cleanly and backed away, allowing Dillinger to pull himself up. As soon as Dillinger turned around, however, Jordan was on him again—grabbing him around the waist and dragging him away from the ropes.

Jordan attempted another German suplex, but this time Dillinger blocked it by hooking his leg behind Jordan's. Dillinger threw a back elbow that caught Jordan on the jaw, then another, and another. The strikes forced Jordan to release his grip. Dillinger spun around and kicked Jordan in the gut, doubling him over. Dillinger ran to the ropes, bounced off, and came back looking for his signature Tye Breaker running knee strike.

But Jordan stood up at the last second and caught Dillinger in mid-move! Jordan held Dillinger across his chest in a powerslam position, then transitioned—hoisting Dillinger up onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. The crowd sensed what was coming.

Jordan took two steps toward the center of the ring, then launched Dillinger overhead with a massive overhead belly-to-belly suplex! Dillinger flew through the air, crashed to the mat with tremendous impact, and Jordan immediately covered him, hooking both legs.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Winner: Jason Jordan via pinfall (11:45)

Jordan's music hit, and he stood up, the referee raising his hand in victory. Jordan showed no emotion—no celebration, no smile—just a curt nod of acknowledgment before rolling out of the ring and heading up the ramp. Behind him, Dillinger sat up, staring at his former partner's back with a look of pure frustration.

The announce team discussed how Jordan had proven that the breakup might have been the best thing for his career, while Dillinger would need to reassess his strategy going forward.

MAIN EVENT: HIDEO ITAMI VS. TYLER BREEZE (2-OUT-OF-3 FALLS MATCH)

The main event was upon us, and the Full Sail crowd buzzed with anticipation. A video package played, recapping the rivalry between Hideo Itami and Tyler Breeze—two men with completely different philosophies. Itami believed in hard work, respect, and striking precision honed over years in Japan. Breeze believed only in the power of beauty and that physical appearance mattered more than athletic ability.

Their previous encounters had been competitive, with neither man gaining a clear advantage. NXT management decided that tonight, they would settle their differences definitively in a 2-out-of-3 Falls Match.

Tyler Breeze's entrance music hit first—an upbeat, electronic theme that perfectly matched his narcissistic character. Prince Pretty emerged through the curtain wearing an elaborate fur-lined jacket, bedazzled sunglasses, and carrying his signature selfie stick. He paused at the top of the ramp to snap several photos of himself, checking each one and deleting any that didn't meet his exacting standards.

Breeze sauntered down the ramp, ignoring the "UGGOS!" chants from the Full Sail crowd. He paused to take a selfie with a particularly attractive woman in the front row (without her permission), then continued to the ring. Breeze climbed the steps carefully—can't risk scuffing his boots—and entered the ring through the ropes. He climbed to the second turnbuckle and struck a pose, his jacket splaying out behind him as camera flashes popped throughout the arena.

After thoroughly documenting his entrance from multiple angles, Breeze finally removed his jacket and handed his phone and selfie stick to a ringside attendant with very specific instructions: "Do NOT let any uggos touch these."

The lights went dark.

A moment of silence.

Then the opening notes of Hideo Itami's entrance music pounded through the speakers—a hard-hitting Japanese theme that immediately changed the atmosphere in Full Sail University. Strobe lights flashed in time with the music as Itami emerged through the curtain, his expression intense and focused. The Japanese sensation wore simple black trunks and matching kick pads, every inch the serious competitor.

Itami walked down the ramp with purpose, his eyes locked on Breeze. There was no flash, no pageantry—just a warrior ready for battle. The crowd's energy shifted from amused at Breeze's antics to genuinely excited for the striking artistry they knew Itami would display.

Itami climbed the steps, entered the ring, and immediately went to his corner to stretch, never once taking his eyes off Breeze. The referee, Drake Wuertz, called both men to the center of the ring to explain the rules. Breeze tried to offer a handshake, but Itami simply stared at the extended hand before backing away to his corner. Breeze shrugged and blew a kiss to the crowd, which elicited a chorus of boos.

The bell rang for the first fall.

FIRST FALL

Both men circled each other cautiously. Breeze, known for his technical ability despite his character's emphasis on looks, looked for an opening. Itami kept his hands up in a loose kickboxing stance, ready to strike.

Breeze shot in for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and Itami met him. The two jockeyed for position, with neither man gaining an immediate advantage. Breeze transitioned into a side headlock, but Itami quickly pushed him off into the ropes. On the rebound, Itami leapfrogged over Breeze. Breeze hit the opposite ropes, came back, and Itami caught him with a lightning-fast arm drag. Breeze popped right back up—and Itami caught him with another arm drag. Breeze got up again, this time more slowly, and Itami motioned for him to bring it.

The crowd appreciated Itami's confidence, chanting "HI-DE-O! HI-DE-O!"

Breeze, looking annoyed, charged in—and Itami side-stepped, catching Breeze with a picture-perfect hip toss that sent Prince Pretty flying across the ring. Breeze scrambled to the corner, checking his face to make sure there were no scratches. Finding none, he breathed a sigh of relief—then looked up to see Itami charging at him!

THWACK!

Itami's running hesitation dropkick caught Breeze square in the face with devastating impact! Breeze's head snapped back against the turnbuckles, and he slumped down in the corner. Itami dragged him away from the ropes and covered him.

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Itami immediately went back on the attack, pulling Breeze up and whipping him into the ropes. On the rebound, Itami caught Breeze with a kitchen sink knee to the midsection, flipping Breeze inside out. Breeze writhed on the mat, clutching his stomach, and Itami methodically pulled him up again.

Itami hooked Breeze for a vertical suplex and lifted him straight up into the air, holding him there for several seconds in an impressive show of strength. The blood rushed to Breeze's head before Itami finally dropped him, driving Breeze's back into the canvas. Itami floated over for another cover.

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Itami remained calm and patient, never showing frustration. He pulled Breeze up and delivered a stiff knife-edge chop that echoed through Full Sail.

"WOOOO!" the crowd chanted in homage to Ric Flair.

Itami chopped Breeze again. And again. And again. Each chop left a bright red welt across Breeze's chest, and Prince Pretty's eyes watered with pain. Itami backed up, measuring Breeze for what looked like a running strike—but Breeze quickly dropped and rolled out of the ring, putting distance between himself and the onslaught of strikes.

Breeze walked around ringside, shaking his arms and trying to recover. The referee began his count. At five, Itami had had enough waiting. He ran across the ring, bounced off the opposite ropes, and came charging back—launching himself through the ropes with a suicide dive!

CRASH!

Itami drove his full body weight into Breeze, and both men tumbled over the announce table barricade into the first row of fans! The Full Sail crowd went absolutely wild, chanting "THIS IS AWESOME!" as both competitors slowly disentangled themselves from the ringside chaos.

Itami was first to his feet, and he grabbed Breeze, rolling him back into the ring. Itami climbed onto the apron and then to the top rope—a rare high-risk move from the typically ground-based striker. Breeze was still down in the center of the ring. Itami steadied himself on the top turnbuckle and leaped off with a diving double foot stomp!

But Breeze rolled out of the way! Itami landed on his feet but immediately grabbed at his knees—the impact of landing from that height jarring his legs. Breeze scrambled up and caught Itami with a superkick that landed flush on the jaw! Itami staggered backward into the ropes and rebounded forward—directly into Breeze's Beauty Shot!

But no! Itami ducked under the spinning heel kick at the last possible second! Breeze spun all the way around, his back now to Itami. The Japanese striker grabbed Breeze from behind in a waistlock, then transitioned to hook both of Breeze's arms. The crowd rose to their feet—they knew what was coming.

Itami lifted Breeze and drove him face-first into the mat with his delayed vertical suplex facebuster! Breeze bounced off the canvas and rolled onto his back. But Itami wasn't going for the cover. Instead, he backed into the corner, crouching low, measuring Breeze.

Breeze stirred, pushing himself to his hands and knees, then to one knee. He looked up groggily, trying to locate his opponent. Itami exploded out of the corner, running full speed.

SMASH!

The hesitation dropkick caught Breeze square in the face again! Breeze's head whiplashed backward, and he collapsed to the mat. Itami immediately hooked both legs, pressing his weight down on Breeze's shoulders.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

First Fall: Hideo Itami (14:32 elapsed)

SECOND FALL

The referee signaled that Itami had won the first fall, and the Japanese Superstar rose to his feet, nodding with satisfaction. Breeze rolled toward the ropes, pulling himself up and shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. The Full Sail crowd was firmly behind Itami now, chanting his name.

After a brief rest period, the referee called for the bell to start the second fall.

Breeze immediately rolled out of the ring again, clearly needing more time to recover. Itami, showing perhaps a hint of frustration, followed him out. As soon as Itami rounded the ring post, Breeze caught him with a rake to the eyes! The referee hadn't seen it from his position in the ring, and Itami stumbled backward, his hands going to his face.

Breeze grabbed Itami and slammed him face-first into the ring apron, then rolled him back into the ring. Prince Pretty climbed onto the apron, grabbed the top rope, and launched himself over with a slingshot somersault senton—crashing down across Itami's chest! Breeze hooked the leg immediately.

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Breeze slapped the mat but stayed on the attack. He pulled Itami up and delivered a beautiful snap suplex, floating over into another cover.

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Breeze transitioned smoothly, floating over Itami's body and locking in a rear chinlock. He pressed his knee into Itami's spine while wrenching back on the hold, trying to wear down the Japanese striker. The referee checked on Itami, who shook his head—refusing to submit.

The Full Sail crowd began their rhythmic clapping again, trying to will Itami back into the match. Slowly, Itami began to power up to his feet, Breeze maintaining the chinlock even as both men stood. Itami drove an elbow into Breeze's midsection. Then another. And another. The third elbow forced Breeze to release the hold.

Itami hit the ropes for momentum—but Breeze caught him on the rebound with a drop-toe-hold that sent Itami face-first into the middle turnbuckle! Itami's head bounced off the padded steel, and he rolled away holding his face. Breeze smirked and took a moment to run his fingers through his hair, making sure everything was still perfect.

Breeze pulled Itami up and hooked him for a vertical suplex of his own. He lifted Itami up but held him there, letting the blood rush to Itami's head in a show of his own strength. After several seconds, Breeze dropped Itami, but instead of letting him crash to the mat, Breeze held on and rolled through, pulling both men back to their feet. Breeze lifted Itami for a second suplex, held him up again, then dropped him. Once more, Breeze held on and rolled through. The crowd murmured—they'd seen this sequence before.

Breeze lifted Itami for a third time—completing the Three Amigos tribute to Eddie Guerrero. This time Breeze let Itami crash to the mat and immediately covered him, hooking both legs.

ONE... TWO... THR—KICKOUT!

Breeze couldn't believe it. He held up three fingers to the referee, insisting it was a three-count. The referee shook his head—it was only two. Breeze's frustration was growing. He pulled Itami up once more and whipped him hard into the corner. Itami hit the turnbuckles back-first and stumbled forward. Breeze caught him with a spinning back fist that snapped Itami's head to the side!

Itami dropped to one knee, clearly dazed. Breeze backed into the opposite corner, measuring his opponent. He charged forward, leaping into the air—looking for his Supermodel Kick running big boot finisher!

But Itami moved at the last second! Breeze's leg sailed over Itami's head and got caught up on the top rope. Breeze hung there awkwardly for a moment, trying to free himself. Itami saw the opening and charged—but Breeze freed his leg and dropped down, causing Itami to crash chest-first into the corner.

Itami staggered backward, and Breeze grabbed him in a schoolboy roll-up!

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Both men scrambled to their feet. Breeze swung wildly with a clothesline, but Itami ducked. Breeze spun around, and Itami caught him with a devastating roundhouse kick to the ribs! Breeze doubled over in pain. Itami grabbed Breeze's arm and whipped him into the ropes. On the rebound, Itami bent down—looking for a back body drop.

But Breeze leapfrogged over Itami's back and kept running, hitting the opposite ropes. Itami stood up and turned around—and Breeze came flying back with a forearm smash that sent both men crashing to the mat!

Both competitors were down, breathing heavily, the pace of the match clearly taking its toll. The referee began his count.

At six, Breeze stirred first. At seven, Itami rolled toward the ropes. At eight, Breeze was on his feet. At nine, Itami grabbed the ropes and pulled himself up. The referee waved off the count—both men had beaten it.

They met in the center of the ring, and Breeze struck first with a forearm. Itami fired back with one of his own. Breeze struck again. Itami returned fire. The exchange grew faster and more furious, the crowd "BOOING" for Breeze and "YAYING" for Itami with each strike.

Finally, Itami got the advantage, landing three strikes in rapid succession that backed Breeze into the ropes. Itami grabbed Breeze's arm and whipped him across the ring. Breeze hit the opposite ropes and rebounded—but suddenly grabbed his knee and fell to the mat, rolling around in apparent agony!

The referee immediately waved for Itami to stay back, dropping down to check on Breeze. Breeze clutched his knee, his face contorted in pain, screaming that something had popped. The referee stood between Itami and Breeze, holding the Japanese striker back while he assessed the injury.

Itami tried to move around the referee, but the official insisted he stay back. The Full Sail crowd, sensing something was amiss, began to boo. Their instincts were correct.

As soon as the referee turned his back to signal to the ringside doctor, Breeze's expression changed from agony to a devious smile. He suddenly sprang to his feet—there was no injury! Itami saw it happening and tried to warn the referee, but it was too late.

Breeze spun around and superkicked the referee out of the way—the official stumbling into the corner. In the same motion, Breeze spun further, his heel catching Itami flush on the jaw with the Beauty Shot!

SMACK!

Itami collapsed like he'd been shot, and Breeze immediately dropped down, hooking both legs. The referee, recovering from being shoved aside and not having seen the fake injury, dropped down to count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Second Fall: Tyler Breeze (22:09 elapsed)

The Full Sail crowd erupted in boos as Breeze's music hit. Prince Pretty rolled out of the ring immediately, his arms raised in victory, a huge smile plastered across his face. He grabbed his phone from the ringside attendant and snapped a selfie, capturing his jubilant expression with Itami laid out in the ring behind him.

Inside the ring, Itami slowly sat up, holding his jaw. The replay showed clearly on the big screen—Breeze had faked the injury, and the referee hadn't seen it. Itami shook his head, frustration evident on his face, but he pulled himself up using the ropes. The score was tied 1-1, and everything would come down to the third and final fall.

THIRD FALL

After another brief rest period, both men returned to their corners. Breeze was full of confidence now, blowing kisses to the booing crowd. Itami looked intense, focused, angry—the kind of anger that makes a striker even more dangerous.

The referee called for the bell.

Breeze strutted to the center of the ring, arms spread wide, inviting Itami to take his best shot. It was a show of arrogance that the crowd despised. Itami stalked forward slowly, his hands up, and Breeze dropped his hands, standing there with a smile on his face.

Itami lunged forward with a lightning-fast strike combination—a jab, a second jab, a palm strike, and a spinning back fist! The four-strike combo hit so fast that Breeze barely had time to register the first before the last one spun him around! Breeze staggered into the ropes, and Itami grabbed him, whipping him across the ring.

Breeze hit the opposite ropes and rebounded, and Itami caught him with a devastating kitchen sink knee lift that flipped Breeze completely over! Prince Pretty crashed to the mat holding his stomach, the air driven from his lungs. Itami didn't give him time to recover, pulling him up immediately and delivering a brutal knife-edge chop that echoed through Full Sail.

"WOOOO!"

Another chop. And another. And another. Itami backed Breeze into the corner and unleashed a series of alternating chops and forearms that had Breeze's chest turning bright red. The referee forced a break, and as Itami backed away, Breeze slumped in the corner, his chest heaving.

Itami charged back in, looking for his corner dropkick, but Breeze dove out of the way at the last second! Itami's feet went through the ropes, and he landed awkwardly on the apron. Breeze grabbed Itami's legs and yanked him backward, causing Itami to fall and smack his face on the ring apron on the way down to the floor!

The impact was sickening, and Itami held his face as he lay on the ringside mats. Breeze rolled out of the ring and grabbed Itami, slamming him face-first into the ring apron again. The referee's count was at four. Breeze rolled Itami back into the ring and followed, hooking the leg for a cover.

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Breeze immediately went back to work, pulling Itami up and hooking him for a suplex. But instead of executing a regular vertical suplex, Breeze shifted his grip and dropped Itami face-first across the top turnbuckle! Itami's face bounced off the padded steel, and he staggered backward—right into Breeze, who grabbed him in a schoolboy pin!

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Breeze was getting closer to the victory. He pulled Itami up again and whipped him into the corner. Breeze charged in with his Supermodel Kick big boot—and this time it connected! Itami's head snapped back from the impact, and he slumped in the corner. Breeze dragged him away from the ropes and covered him.

ONE... TWO... THR—KICKOUT!

How did Itami kick out? Breeze couldn't believe it. The Full Sail crowd was going absolutely wild, chanting "THIS IS AWESOME!" Both men had given everything they had.

Breeze stood up, backing into the corner. He was setting up for the Beauty Shot—the move that had won him the second fall. He tuned up the band, stomping his foot in rhythm as Itami slowly pushed himself up. The crowd was booing thunderously, trying to warn Itami.

Itami got to his knees, then to his feet, stumbling slightly. He turned around, and Breeze charged forward, spinning—but Itami caught Breeze's leg in mid-kick! Breeze hopped on one foot, his eyes wide with shock. Itami stared at him coldly, then delivered a brutal dragon screw leg whip that sent Breeze crashing to the mat!

Breeze grabbed his knee—this time the pain was real—and Itami immediately capitalized. He grabbed Breeze's leg and dragged him toward the corner. Itami climbed to the second rope, still holding Breeze's leg, then leaped off with a double foot stomp directly to Breeze's knee!

Breeze screamed in pain, rolling away and clutching his leg. Itami stalked him methodically. When Breeze tried to pull himself up using the ropes, Itami was there with a running penalty kick to the chest that sent Breeze flying backward into the corner!

Breeze slumped down in the seated position, his back against the bottom turnbuckle. Itami backed across the ring, the Full Sail crowd rising to their feet. They knew what was coming.

Itami charged forward at full speed!

BOOM!

The hesitation dropkick caught Breeze square in the face with devastating impact! Breeze's head whiplashed against the bottom turnbuckle, and his eyes rolled back slightly. Itami dragged Breeze away from the corner by his legs and covered him, hooking both legs deep.

ONE!

TWO!

THR—NO!

Breeze got his shoulder up at 2.9! The crowd couldn't believe it, and even Itami looked surprised. He held up three fingers to the referee, who shook his head—it was only two.

Itami stood up, breathing heavily, trying to figure out what he needed to do to put Breeze away. He pulled Breeze up, hooked both arms from behind, and lifted him for the delayed vertical suplex facebuster—but Breeze shifted his weight in mid-air and landed on his feet behind Itami!

Breeze immediately grabbed Itami in a backslide pin!

ONE... TWO... KICKOUT!

Both men scrambled to their feet. Breeze swung wildly with a right hand, but Itami blocked it and responded with a lightning-fast strike combination—jab, palm strike, spinning back fist, and then a devastating Yakuza kick that nearly took Breeze's head off!

Breeze collapsed to the mat, and Itami fell on top of him for the cover.

ONE... TWO... THRE—KICKOUT!

Now it was Itami who couldn't believe it. Both men were running on fumes, the 25-minute match having taken its toll on both competitors. Itami pulled himself up using the ropes, measuring Breeze one more time. Breeze was stirring, trying to get to his hands and knees.

Itami backed into the corner again, crouching low. The crowd was on its feet, sensing the end was near. Breeze pushed himself up to one knee, then stood—but his back was to Itami. Prince Pretty turned around groggily, not knowing where his opponent was.

Itami exploded out of the corner for another corner dropkick—but Breeze sidestepped at the last possible second! Itami crashed into the corner, his momentum carrying him through the ropes and causing him to hit the ring post shoulder-first!

Itami slumped on the apron, holding his shoulder. Breeze saw his chance. He grabbed Itami and pulled him back into the ring through the ropes, hooking him for what looked like a suplex. But instead, Breeze lifted Itami up and dropped him throat-first across the top rope! Itami bounced off and staggered backward, clutching his throat.

Breeze spun around, setting up for the Beauty Shot one more time!

He charged at Itami and spun—but Itami ducked under the kick again! Breeze spun all the way around, and Itami grabbed him from behind, hooking both arms. With the last of his strength, Itami lifted Breeze and drove him down with the delayed vertical suplex facebuster!

Both men were down. The referee began his count. At five, Itami rolled over and draped an arm across Breeze's chest.

ONE!

TWO!

THR—KICKOUT!

The Full Sail crowd couldn't believe it! Both men had kicked out of each other's best moves multiple times. This had truly become a war of attrition.

Itami, running on pure willpower now, pulled himself to his feet using the ropes. Breeze was stirring as well, but much more slowly. Itami backed into the corner one final time. Breeze got to his hands and knees, then pushed himself up. He was facing away from Itami, swaying slightly on his feet.

Breeze turned around, and Itami charged!

SMASH!

The running single-leg dropkick—Itami's signature strike—caught Breeze flush on the jaw! Breeze's head snapped back, and he collapsed to the mat like a tree being felled. Itami, exhausted, fell on top of Breeze and hooked both legs, using every ounce of his remaining strength to keep Breeze's shoulders pinned to the mat.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Third Fall and Match: Hideo Itami (28:47 total match time)

Itami's music hit, and the Full Sail University crowd exploded with cheers! The Japanese Superstar rolled off Breeze and lay on his back for several moments, his chest heaving, staring up at the lights. The referee kneeled down beside him, raising his arm in victory.

Slowly, Itami sat up, wincing slightly. He pulled himself to his feet using the ropes and allowed the referee to raise his arm again. Breeze was still down in the center of the ring, only now beginning to stir. Itami nodded to the crowd, acknowledging their support, before rolling out of the ring.

As Itami made his way up the ramp, the announce team discussed the implications of his victory. With Sami Zayn invoking his rematch clause and Rhyno declaring his intentions to capture the championship, Itami had now firmly established himself as another top contender for Kevin Owens' NXT Championship.

CLOSING SEGMENT

As Itami's music faded and he disappeared behind the curtain, the camera stayed on the ring where Breeze was pulling himself up using the ropes. Prince Pretty looked devastated, his hair disheveled, his chest covered in red welts from Itami's strikes.

Suddenly, the arena lights dimmed and Kevin Owens' entrance music hit!

The NXT Champion emerged from behind the curtain, the title belt draped over his shoulder, a microphone in his hand. Owens stood at the top of the ramp, staring down at the ring where Breeze was still recovering. The music cut out.

"Congratulations, Hideo," Owens said, his voice carrying through the arena. "That was one hell of a match. You too, Tyler. You both put on quite a show tonight."

Owens began walking slowly down the ramp.

"But let me make something very clear to everyone in that locker room," Owens continued, his tone growing harder. "Sami Zayn wants a rematch? Fine. Rhyno wants a shot? Bring it. Hideo Itami thinks he's earned an opportunity? Get in line."

Owens reached the ring and climbed the steps, entering between the ropes. Breeze, seeing Owens approach, quickly rolled out of the ring and retreated up the ramp, wanting no part of whatever was about to happen.

Owens stood in the center of the ring, holding the NXT Championship above his head.

"I am the NXT Champion," Owens declared. "I beat Sami Zayn—the man everyone said couldn't be beaten. I ended his fairytale. And I will do the same thing to anyone else who steps up. This title isn't going anywhere because I'm the best wrestler in this company, in this country, in the entire world!"

The crowd's boos rained down on Owens, but he just smiled.

"So come on, then. All of you. Sami, Rhyno, Itami—whoever wants a piece of Kevin Owens, I'll be right here waiting. Because when you step in the ring with me, you're not just fighting for a championship. You're fighting a man who will do ANYTHING to keep this title. And trust me—"

Owens' music hit again, cutting off his promo. He held the championship high above his head one more time as the camera zoomed in on the title belt. The announce team discussed the volatile situation in NXT's main event scene as the show faded to black.

FINAL QUICK RESULTS:

Rhyno def. Marcus Louis (2:47)
Bayley def. Emma (8:23)
Jason Jordan def. Tye Dillinger (11:45)
Hideo Itami def. Tyler Breeze 2-1 in a 2-out-of-3 Falls Match (28:47)

LOOKING AHEAD: With the NXT Tag Team Championship tournament set to begin next week and multiple Superstars gunning for Kevin Owens' NXT Championship, the road to the next TakeOver special promises to be explosive. The Full Sail faithful will be on the edge of their seats as NXT continues to deliver the best wrestling action in the world!

Stojy · Oct 26, 2025

One thing I liked about this show is whether there are personal issues between wrestlers or not, there's no doubt reading this that the NXT Championship is the most important thing on the show. You've got Sami chasing it, wanting his title back but also wanting revenge on his former best friend. You've got the veteran Rhyno chasing it, and you've got the epic Hideo Itami chasing as well. Each potential challenger has their own reason, own want, so they come across as completely different, and Owens, as the bad ass champ, basically calling out that he was ready for any and all of them was the perfect way to end the show.

Bayley beating Emma with a Roll Up makes me assume we'll get more from these in the future, whilst Jordan took care of Dillinger pretty handily. I'd be happy for that to be a one and done. Either way, the happenings were solid enough for this show.

I'm also looking forward to the tag title tournament. Hoping you potentially spring a few surprises on us.

Anyway, this was a solid episode of NXT, really doing everything it needed to.

WrestleWizard · Oct 26, 2025

SMACKDOWN RECAP: Chaos Reigns as Orton and Reigns Battle for Control of Extreme Rules

April 3, 2015 - Fresno, CA

Champion's Paranoia Sets the Stage for SmackDown Showdown

Less than a week removed from his controversial "Heist of the Century" at WrestleMania on March 29th, WWE World Heavyweight Champion Seth Rollins opened Friday Night SmackDown not with a victory celebration, but with a paranoid, venom-filled tirade that set the tone for one of the most explosive episodes in recent memory. Standing in the center of the ring surrounded by the battered remnants of The Authority—Director of Operations Kane, The Big Show, and the bruised J&J Security—the self-proclaimed "Future of WWE" looked more like a man under siege than a conquering champion.

Clutching his newly won championship with white knuckles, Rollins unleashed a blistering promo that painted him as a victim rather than a victor. He railed against the now-suspended Brock Lesnar for his destructive rampage on Monday Night Raw, but reserved his most caustic words for WWE Chairman Mr. McMahon himself. Rollins called the decision to place him in a Triple Threat Match at Extreme Rules a "senile" and "ego-driven" abuse of power, his voice rising to a fever pitch as he declared the entire situation an injustice against the rightful champion.

The champion's rant was abruptly cut short by the bone-chilling sound of "Voices" echoing through the Fresno arena. "The Viper" Randy Orton emerged with the cold, predatory calm that has defined his legendary career, his eyes locked on the man he defeated clean in the middle of the ring at WrestleMania. Completely undeterred by The Authority's numbers advantage, Orton strode to the ring with purpose and snatched a microphone. He dismissed Rollins's complaints as nothing more than the pathetic whining of a "paper champion," making it crystal clear that his WrestleMania victory made him the only rightful number one contender. In Orton's calculated view, Mr. McMahon's Triple Threat Match at Extreme Rules was merely an inconvenience—one that simply added another victim to his hit list.

Before Orton could elaborate further on his championship aspirations, the tense standoff exploded with the thunderous arrival of Roman Reigns. "The Juggernaut" stormed through the Fresno crowd, his face carved from stone and radiating pure determination. Bypassing Orton entirely, Reigns got directly in Seth Rollins's face, close enough that the champion visibly flinched. For Reigns, this wasn't about contendership or waiting in line—this was personal. This was about vengeance. In a forceful reminder to everyone watching, Reigns made it brutally clear that Rollins didn't slay The Beast at WrestleMania; he scavenged a victory from a man who had already won the war. Reigns's message was simple and terrifying: his path to reclaiming his championship moment would go through anyone, including The Viper standing inches away.

As three of WWE's most dangerous competitors stood on the precipice of all-out war, The Authority's Director of Operations stepped forward to restore order. In a move that visibly shocked and confused the champion, Kane took the microphone from Rollins's hands and announced that while Mr. McMahon was not in the building, he had left very specific instructions for the evening. Citing the "intriguing animosity" between the two challengers, Kane revealed that SmackDown's main event would pit Randy Orton against Roman Reigns in a colossal one-on-one showdown.

Rollins's initial reaction was one of gleeful satisfaction, clearly believing his two biggest problems would destroy each other and solve his championship dilemma. That relief lasted mere seconds. Kane dropped the bombshell that changed everything: this wouldn't be just another match. The winner of Orton versus Reigns would earn the right to choose the stipulation for the WWE World Heavyweight Championship Triple Threat Match at Extreme Rules.

The color drained from Seth Rollins's face as his nightmare scenario materialized before his eyes. As the champion spiraled into a panic at ringside, screaming "NO!" at his own Director of Operations and pleading for this decision to be reversed, Roman Reigns and Randy Orton locked eyes in the center of the ring. The war for control of Extreme Rules had officially begun, and the battlefield itself would be decided before the night was over.

Mizdow Declares Independence

Backstage in the trainer's room, a furious Miz was having his jaw examined following Neville's devastating Red Arrow on Monday Night Raw. Wincing in pain but refusing to accept reality, The Miz shouted that Neville's victory was nothing more than a fluke, insisting that the "little garden gnome" got lucky and that his own debut and career dwarfed anything the high-flying newcomer had accomplished. "I am an A-Lister!" Miz screamed, his ego as bruised as his jaw.

The scene took a dramatic turn when Damien Mizdow entered the room, conspicuously absent of his stunt double attire and instead wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans. The somber expression on his face immediately signaled this was no ordinary visit. Miz leapt from the examination table, furiously ordering his former assistant to leave and reminding him that he was fired and no longer worked for The Miz.

Mizdow stood his ground, absorbing the verbal assault before speaking in a quiet, serious tone—the first time the WWE Universe had heard him speak as himself rather than mime his employer in months. "You're right, Mike. I don't work for you," Mizdow began, his voice steady and controlled. "For a year, I've been your mime. I've been your punchline. I've taken your abuse, and I did it with a smile because that's what the job was. But on Monday, when you put your hands on me... when you hit me with the Skull-Crushing Finale... you didn't fire an assistant. You unleashed an opponent."

The Miz scoffed at the suggestion, dismissing Mizdow as nothing more than a stunt double and a cheap copy. Mizdow's response was chilling in its simplicity: "We'll see. Because I'm not here to be your stunt double. I'm here to be your replacement." With that declaration hanging in the air, Mizdow turned and walked out, leaving a bewildered and enraged Miz to scream and hurl medical supplies around the room in impotent fury.

Neville Soars, Then Falls to Sheamus's Statement

"The Man That Gravity Forgot" made his SmackDown debut against the surly and aggressive Bad News Barrett, who was still seething from losing his Intercontinental Championship rematch on Raw. The Fresno crowd gave Neville a massive ovation as he made his entrance, the energy palpable for the high-flying phenomenon.

The match showcased a classic clash of contrasting styles. Barrett, channeling his frustration into aggression, attempted to ground Neville and use his size and brawling prowess to punish the smaller competitor. The former Intercontinental Champion connected with a thunderous Winds of Change that nearly ended the match, and he signaled for his devastating Bull Hammer elbow. But Neville's otherworldly speed proved to be the difference. He ducked the Bull Hammer attempt at the last possible moment and countered with a series of blindingly fast kicks that staggered the big man. As Barrett stumbled toward the ropes, Neville hit the opposite side and launched himself over the top rope with a spectacular corkscrew moonsault that wiped Barrett out on the floor.

The Fresno crowd erupted as Neville rolled his opponent back into the ring, scaled to the top turnbuckle, and delivered the breathtaking Red Arrow. The referee's hand hit the mat for the decisive three-count, giving Neville his first SmackDown victory in impressive fashion.

Neville's celebration was short-lived. The lights suddenly went dark throughout the arena, and when they flickered back to life, Sheamus stood in the ring behind the unsuspecting rookie, his new Celtic warrior appearance more menacing than ever. Neville turned directly into a devastating Brogue Kick that nearly took his head off. The Fresno crowd showered Sheamus with deafening boos as he grabbed a microphone and leaned over the fallen Neville with sadistic glee.

"Aww, look at the little high-flyer!" Sheamus mocked, his voice dripping with contempt. "You, Dean Ambrose, Daniel Bryan... all you little 'fellas'... you're just bugs waitin' to be squashed. This is my yard now, and I'm here to cleanse it. I'm here... to fight!" Sheamus threw his arms wide, bathing in the venomous reaction from the crowd as Neville lay motionless in the ring.

Lucha Dragons Earn Their Shot

The Lucha Dragons—Kalisto and Sin Cara—made their SmackDown debut against the menacing duo of The Ascension. Konnor and Viktor looked to make a statement after their own disappointing WrestleMania showing, but the Dragons had other plans.

The match was a thrilling clash of styles, with The Ascension's brutal power game meeting the Dragons' lightning-quick lucha libre offense. Konnor and Viktor dominated early, tossing the smaller Dragons around the ring with authority and connecting with devastating tandem moves. However, the tide turned when Kalisto's incredible agility allowed him to escape the Fall of Man, and Sin Cara made the hot tag.

Midway through the match, WWE Tag Team Champions Cesaro and Tyson Kidd walked to ringside with Natalya, taking their positions at the commentary table to "scout the competition." The tension between the champions was still evident from their argument on Raw, with Kidd making snide comments about Cesaro's performance while "The Swiss Superman" looked increasingly annoyed.

The Dragons picked up momentum, hitting a series of spectacular double-team maneuvers that had the Fresno crowd on their feet. Kalisto launched into a breathtaking Salida del Sol on Viktor, and Sin Cara followed with a Swanton Bomb from the top rope. Kalisto covered for the three-count, giving the Lucha Dragons another impressive victory in their SmackDown debut.

After the bell, Cesaro and Tyson Kidd slowly rose from the commentary table and climbed into the ring. The Dragons, still celebrating their victory, turned to face the Tag Team Champions. For a moment, it seemed like a respectful acknowledgment between competitors. Then, without warning, Cesaro and Kidd attacked, blindsiding Kalisto and Sin Cara with vicious strikes.

The champions pummeled the Dragons with clubbing blows, with Cesaro delivering a devastating European uppercut to Kalisto while Kidd stomped away at Sin Cara in the corner. The Fresno crowd erupted in boos at the cowardly assault. However, the Lucha Dragons refused to stay down. Kalisto recovered first, ducking a wild swing from Cesaro and countering with a lightning-fast enzuigiri. Sin Cara followed suit, springboarding off the ropes with a crossbody that sent Kidd tumbling backward.

The momentum shifted as the Dragons rallied, their speed and agility overwhelming the champions. A double dropkick sent both Cesaro and Kidd stumbling through the ropes to the floor. The champions quickly retreated up the ramp, Natalya joining them as they backed away from the ring. Cesaro and Kidd held their titles high in defiance, but the message was clear: the Lucha Dragons had not only picked up another victory but had also stood their ground against the WWE Tag Team Champions.

As the Dragons stood tall in the ring, pointing toward the retreating champions, the Fresno crowd chanted "LUCHA! LUCHA!" The rivalry had officially begun, and it was only a matter of time before these two teams would collide with the titles on the line.

Cody Rhodes Embraces "The Nightmare"

In a dark, isolated boiler room deep in the bowels of the arena, Cody Rhodes stood alone, wearing a sharp black suit. Gone was the face paint, gone was the manic energy of his Stardust persona. He looked directly into the camera with cold, calculating eyes that conveyed a man who had reached his breaking point and emerged transformed.

"For months... I've been a joke. A cosmic clown. A painted-up, hissing... freak," Rhodes began, his voice low and measured. "I did it all. I committed to it. I tried to make it work. I tried to honor my family's name by being... bizarre. And all it got me was humiliation. All it got me was R-Truth rolling me up like a chump. All it got me was... him."

Rhodes paused, a flicker of venom flashing across his features. "Goldust. My brother. The man who embraced the paint. The man who is the freak show. He watched me humiliate myself. He watched 'Stardust' become a punchline, and he did nothing. On Monday, when I clawed that paint from my face, I wasn't just shedding a character. I was shedding a weakness. I was shedding the very idea that I needed to be anything other than what I am: a Rhodes."

Rhodes's expression darkened further, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "And the name 'Rhodes' means 'champion,' not 'sideshow.' But it also means something else... something Goldust forgot a long time ago. Before the gold paint, before the cosmic dust, before all the bizarre characters... our family understood something. We understood that to truly succeed in this business, you have to become what everyone fears. You have to become... a nightmare."

He stepped closer to the camera, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Goldust, you are the living symbol of my humiliation... and I will erase you, and this entire 'cosmic' past, from existence. But I won't do it as Cody Rhodes, the son trying to live up to a legacy. I'll do it as something new. Something darker. I am 'The Nightmare' Cody Rhodes... and brother, your dreams end now."

The camera lingered on Rhodes's hard, menacing expression before cutting away, leaving no doubt that the war between the Rhodes brothers was far from over—it was just beginning in earnest, and Cody had transformed into something far more dangerous than Stardust ever was.

Paige Abandons AJ Lee, Charlotte Makes the Save

In a rematch from WrestleMania, AJ Lee and Paige faced Divas Champion Nikki Bella and her sister Brie in tag team action. The crowd's enthusiasm for the WrestleMania victors was tempered by uncertainty following Paige's shocking betrayal of AJ Lee on Monday Night Raw, and that wariness proved justified.

AJ Lee and Paige worked well together in the early going, with AJ showcasing the fire and technical prowess that made her a multiple-time Divas Champion. However, tension simmered between the partners throughout the match. On multiple occasions, Paige made "blind tags" by slapping AJ hard on the back, stealing the spotlight and the opportunity to shine. The Bella Twins eventually gained control of the match, isolating Paige and working her over with frequent tags and tandem offense.

Paige fought desperately to reach AJ Lee's outstretched hand for the hot tag. The crowd began to rally behind the potential comeback, but as Paige's fingertips came within inches of making contact with her partner, she suddenly stopped. A smirk spread across Paige's face, and she dropped from the apron, leaving AJ Lee stranded and alone.

The Fresno crowd erupted in boos as Paige laughed maniacally and walked up the ramp without looking back. AJ stood frozen in the ring, stunned by the betrayal for the second time in four days, and turned directly into a vicious forearm from Nikki Bella. The champion capitalized immediately, hoisting AJ up and planting her with the Rack Attack. Nikki covered for the three-count as Brie celebrated alongside her sister.

The Bella Twins weren't finished. As AJ lay motionless in the ring, Nikki and Brie circled their fallen opponent, clearly looking to inflict further punishment. Suddenly, Charlotte's music hit, and the new number one contender sprinted to the ring. The Bella Twins scattered as Charlotte slid in and stood protectively over AJ Lee, checking on the fallen former champion.

Charlotte helped AJ to her feet as the crowd cheered the show of solidarity. The message was clear: while Paige had proven herself a traitor and coward, Charlotte was willing to stand up for what was right. Nikki Bella backed up the ramp, holding her Divas Championship high, but she now knew that her challenger at Extreme Rules had both the power and the heart to be a serious threat to her reign.

Daniel Bryan and Dolph Ziggler Make History

The Intercontinental Champion Daniel Bryan made his way to the ring to thunderous "YES!" chants from the Fresno faithful, the championship proudly displayed on his shoulder. The crowd's energy was electric for the man who had finally captured the title he'd been chasing since returning from injury. Moments later, Dolph Ziggler's music hit, and "The Showoff" made his entrance to an equally strong reception. The two competitors who had stolen the show at WrestleMania stood in the ring together, mutual respect evident in their body language despite the competitive tension.

Bryan raised the microphone, waiting for the "YES!" chants to subside before addressing the audience. "You know, for years, I chased this championship," he began, holding the title high. "I watched legends like Bret Hart, Shawn Michaels, Randy Savage, and my mentor, William Regal, define what it meant to be Intercontinental Champion. This wasn't just a stepping stone. This was THE championship that proved you were the best wrestler in the world, night in and night out."

The crowd roared in approval as Bryan continued. "But somewhere along the way, this title lost its way. It became an afterthought. A prop. And on Monday Night Raw, Dolph Ziggler stood in this ring and issued a challenge that spoke to the very core of what this championship should represent. Not a 'shot.' Not a 'rematch.' But a war. A 'Best of Seven Series' to determine, without a shadow of a doubt, who the real workhorse of WWE is."

Ziggler took the microphone, his expression serious and focused. "Daniel, I've been in this company for years, and I've heard all the excuses. 'You're not tall enough.' 'You're not the right look.' 'You can't be the guy.' And you know what? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of watching guys who can't wrestle get opportunity after opportunity while guys like us have to scratch and claw for everything we get."

The Fresno crowd cheered loudly, hanging on Ziggler's every word. "At WrestleMania, there were seven of us in that ladder match, all fighting for this title. We climbed, we fell, we destroyed each other. And in the end, you climbed that ladder and became champion. But here's the thing, Daniel—you and I, we've fought before. We've had great matches. But we've never settled it. We've never had a definitive series to prove once and for all who is the better man. This isn't about stealing the show anymore, Daniel. This is about BEING the show. This is about making THIS," he said, pointing emphatically at the Intercontinental Championship, "the most prestigious championship in this entire company. And it starts Monday Night on Raw."

Bryan nodded in agreement, a smile spreading across his face. "Dolph, you're absolutely right. And on Monday Night Raw, when you issued that challenge, I accepted it without hesitation. Because if we're going to restore the honor and prestige of the Intercontinental Championship, we need to prove it's defended by the absolute best. So let me make this official: on Monday Night Raw, you and I will compete in Match Number One of our historic Best of Seven Series!"

The crowd exploded in approval as both men stood face-to-face in the center of the ring. "But let me be clear about something," Bryan added, his tone becoming more intense. "I have nothing but respect for you, Dolph. You're one of the best in the world. But when that bell rings, respect goes out the window. I will beat you in this series. I will prove that I am the better man. And I will carry this championship with the honor it deserves."

Ziggler smirked. "We'll see about that, Bryan. Because I didn't issue this challenge to lose. I issued it to prove that I'm the best Intercontinental Champion this company has ever seen. And when I win this series, when I take that title from you, everyone will know exactly who the real workhorse of WWE is."

The two men stared each other down for a long moment, the intensity building, before Bryan extended his hand. Ziggler looked at it, then at the crowd, before firmly shaking Bryan's hand. The Fresno crowd gave both competitors a standing ovation as they held their handshake, raising their clasped hands high in the air.

As the two men stood united in the ring, the mutual respect was evident, but so was the competitive fire. The message was clear: for the next several weeks, Daniel Bryan and Dolph Ziggler would engage in a series that would redefine what it meant to be Intercontinental Champion. They stood united in their mission to restore the prestige and honor to the championship, but only one man could emerge victorious. The countdown to Monday Night Raw had begun, and the wrestling world was about to witness something special.

Rusev Destroys R-Truth After Extreme Rules Challenge

Rusev and Lana marched to the ring with cold fury etched on their faces, still seething from losing the United States Championship to John Cena on Monday Night Raw. Lana took the microphone and launched into a scathing indictment of the new champion.

"Last Sunday at WrestleMania, the great American 'hero' John Cena stole the United States Championship from the super-athlete, Rusev," Lana declared, her voice dripping with contempt. "And what does he do? He issues an 'Open Challenge,' like a coward, offering a match to anyone but the man he cheated. This is typical American arrogance. Cena, you may hide from your destiny, but you cannot escape it. We are invoking our rematch clause at Extreme Rules! And Rusev will not just take back his title... he will break your American spirit!"

Rusev grabbed the microphone from Lana, his face red with rage. "CENA! YOU ARE A LIAR! YOU ARE A COWARD! I CRUSH YOU! I... CRUSH..." Before the Bulgarian Brute could finish his threat, R-Truth's music interrupted, and the enthusiastic Superstar danced his way to the ring for a scheduled match.

What followed could barely be classified as a match—it was a one-sided assault. The bell rang, and R-Truth ducked an initial clothesline attempt, yelling his signature "What's Up!" Rusev responded by nearly decapitating him with a savage superkick. The match was effectively over before it began. Rusev stomped viciously on R-Truth's back while screaming in Russian, then locked in The Accolade with malicious intent.

R-Truth tapped out almost instantly, but Rusev refused to release the hold. He synched the submission in deeper, his face a mask of pure rage as the referee desperately called for the bell repeatedly. Finally, after several officials sprinted to the ring to intervene, Rusev released the hold and stood tall over the crumpled form of R-Truth. The Russian flag unfurled above the ring as Rusev roared his dominance, making a clear statement about what awaited John Cena at Extreme Rules.

The Dream Match: A WrestleMania Moment Revisited

Before the main event, SmackDown aired a special video package recapping one of the most historic moments from Monday Night Raw: the face-to-face confrontation between legends Sting and The Undertaker.

The package showed Sting making his shocking Raw debut, walking to the ring as the crowd erupted. The video highlighted the eerie silence as The Undertaker's gong hit, and the two icons stood face-to-face for the first time in WWE. The tension was palpable as neither man said a word, simply staring each other down before Sting extended his hand toward the WrestleMania sign hanging above the ring.

The Undertaker's slow, deliberate nod accepting the challenge sent chills through the arena. The video package ended with both men's images side by side, with the text "STING vs. THE UNDERTAKER - WRESTLEMANIA 32" appearing on screen.

The sixty-second package served as a powerful reminder that the greatest dream match in professional wrestling history had just been made official, and the anticipation for WrestleMania 32 had already begun.

Main Event: Orton vs. Reigns Ends in Chaos

The main event finally arrived, with the stakes impossibly high: the winner would choose the stipulation for the WWE World Heavyweight Championship Triple Threat Match at Extreme Rules. Roman Reigns entered first to a massive reaction, followed by Randy Orton. The two men engaged in an intense staredown before the opening bell, neither willing to blink or show weakness. On the entrance ramp, a visibly nervous Seth Rollins appeared with his championship in hand, walking down to the commentary table and insisting he was merely there to "scout" his opposition.

From the opening bell, the match delivered on its pay-per-view quality billing. It was a hard-hitting, brutal affair pitting Orton's cunning veteran instincts and technical precision against Reigns's raw, overwhelming power. Reigns dominated the early portions of the match, using his strength advantage to ragdoll The Viper. However, Orton's ring awareness saved him when he countered a Superman Punch attempt into one of his signature slick powerslams that shifted momentum.

The action spilled to the outside, where Reigns used his power to send Orton crashing violently into the steel steps. Back inside the ring, Reigns pounded the mat and signaled for the Spear, but Orton's veteran awareness allowed him to leapfrog the charging Juggernaut. Reigns posted his own shoulder on the missed attempt, and Orton immediately seized control. The Viper methodically dissected his opponent, connecting with his signature backbreaker and stomping systematically on Reigns's limbs to eliminate his explosiveness.

As the match reached its climax with both men exhausted and desperate, Reigns mounted a comeback. He exploded with a Superman Punch that connected flush on Orton's jaw. Reigns pounded the mat again, setting up for the Spear that would secure victory and control of Extreme Rules. Suddenly, Kane, Big Show, and J&J Security rushed the ring from the backstage area and attacked both competitors, forcing the referee to immediately call for the bell and rule the match a no contest.

The Authority swarmed both Orton and Reigns, beating them down with overwhelming numbers. Seth Rollins, ecstatic at this turn of events, slid into the ring and began directing traffic, putting the boots to both of his challengers as they lay helpless. He screamed at J&J Security to hold Orton up, setting The Viper up for a Curb Stomp. But Roman Reigns exploded out of the corner with a Spear that cut Big Show completely in half. Orton used the opening to hit an RKO on Kane that sent the Director of Operations crashing to the mat. Acting on pure survival instinct, Reigns and Orton worked in unison to clear J&J Security from the ring.

Seth Rollins found himself isolated, his Authority army decimated around him. He turned in terror and came face to face with Roman Reigns. The champion begged off, pleading for mercy, but Reigns shoved him backward—directly into a waiting RKO from Randy Orton. The Fresno crowd exploded as the WWE World Heavyweight Champion was laid out cold between his two challengers.

Reigns and Orton were the last two men standing in the ring. They stared each other down over Rollins's unconscious body as the crowd reached a fever pitch, wondering what would happen next. Kane, having recovered at ringside, grabbed a microphone with panic in his voice. "The match is a no-contest! No one won! No one gets to pick the stipulation!"

Suddenly, the familiar sound of "No Chance in Hell" echoed through the arena, and Mr. McMahon appeared on the Titantron from his remote location. "Not so fast, Kane," the Chairman said with authority. "I may not be there, but I'm always watching. What I saw was The Authority interfering in a match I made. That won't stand. So, I'm making an executive decision. Since you both just decimated The Authority... and since you both just laid out the champion... you both win."

Seth Rollins, who was just beginning to stir in the ring, looked up at the Titantron in absolute horror as the words registered. "That's right!" Mr. McMahon continued. "At Extreme Rules, Seth, it's still a Triple Threat. But now, Randy Orton will get to pick your opponent for next week on Raw... and Roman Reigns... you get to pick the stipulation! Let's hear it, Roman!"

The camera zoomed in on Roman Reigns as he picked up the fallen microphone. His face was cold and calculating as he stared down at the terrified champion. "Seth... you're a coward. You're a rat. And at Extreme Rules, there's nowhere to run, and there are no rules. And when one of us breaks you down so bad you can't stand... when we strap you to a stretcher and wheel you out of that arena... you're not just losing that title. We're not having a match... we're having a Stretcher Match!"

The Fresno crowd erupted in approval as the implications sank in. At Extreme Rules, the only way to win would be to incapacitate one of the other two competitors so completely that they could be strapped to a stretcher and wheeled past the finish line—the first man to successfully wheel an opponent across the line would leave as WWE World Heavyweight Champion. Reigns dropped the microphone, but before his music could hit, Randy Orton snatched the mic from the canvas.

"And Seth," Orton said with a predatory smile, "since I get to pick your opponent for Monday Night Raw... I choose Roman Reigns. Good luck, champ."

The crowd roared its approval as Orton's sadistic grin widened. Seth Rollins would have to face Roman Reigns on Raw with no Authority backup in sight, just three weeks before defending his title against both men in the most brutal match type imaginable at Extreme Rules on April 26th.

Reigns and Orton stood over the fallen champion, staring each other down with mutual understanding. For now, they had a common enemy. SmackDown went off the air with a final shot of Seth Rollins's face, the champion realizing that his WWE World Heavyweight Championship reign was in extreme jeopardy. At Extreme Rules, there would be nowhere to hide, and the two men who just decimated him and The Authority would be coming for his title in the most dangerous environment possible—where only a stretcher would decide the winner.

Chicago, IL | AllState Arena
April 26th, 2015

*CONFIRMED CARD

WWE WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
TRIPLE THREAT STRETCHER MATCH
Seth Rollins vs. Roman Reigns vs. Randy Orton

DIVAS CHAMPIONSHIP
Nikki Bella (c) vs. Charlotte Flair

UNITED STATES CHAMPIONSHIP
John Cena (c) vs. Rusev

Stojy · Nov 2, 2025

I thought the World Championship was on point for the most part tonight. Seth being unhappy with his title defense, only to be cornered by both again in the opening until Kane made the match was fine. A nice swerve with Seth mad at Kane for announcing the main event, but then The Authority being in on it and beating up both Roman and Orton to ruin the main event. This was all okay, but from here is where things got a bit eh for me. One, why does Roman get the extra advantage of picking the stip for Extreme Rules, and Orton just gets to pick an opponent for Seth for next week? Roman seems at such a bigger advantage for no real reason. On top of that, a triple threat stretcher match just seems awkward as hell in my head. Not sure I'm a big fan of the stipulation.

I really enjoyed the Miz/Mizdow segment. That line about coming to replace Miz was cold. In two shows, you've knocked this out of the park twice.

You've done another great job booking Neville, straight from NXT, as a legitimate threat to basically anybody with a win over Miz and Barrett during his first week on the main roster. I don't mind the choice of Sheamus as his first feud either, as I assume the attack means they'll have some build before they compete.

Lucha Dragons getting a shot at Kidd and Cesaro sounds like a good match to me. Basic attack builds some form of heat, which is fine for a starting point.

The Cody promo was extremely well written. Much like with the Miz stuff, this was one of my favourites on Raw with Cody ripping off his paint, and now the justification was just as good. Great work.

Paige betrayed AJ Lee on Raw, and suddenly with no further character development, they are teaming up together again on Smackdown? Eh, not big on that. Page betraying AJ again made sense, but it sounded like she was the legal competitor when she decided to walk away. If that's right, the match should have been a count out victory, and not poor AJ getting Rack Attacked and beaten. Bellas winning is fine and Charlotte preventing the attack gives her match with Nikki some hype. I think the big womens angle really ramps up once we get an explanation from Paige. I'm looking forward to that.

I mentioned on my Raw feedback that I wasn't the biggest fan of the best of seven series coming out of seemingly nowhere. With that being said, Bryan and Ziggler are two workhorses to really get this concept over, and I thought this segment did a good job of exciting viewers/readers for it. Nice work.

Rusev destroying people is always something I'm going to enjoy, and the 'Taker/Sting reminder is fine.

I guess one other point I wanted to mention is whilst I feel like the overall booking is going well for the most part, you might want to work on mixing things up somewhat. Every match you had on this show ended with an after the match attack, or attempted attack. Just feels like a little to much on the one show.

Cody and Miz stuff is the highlight for me right now, and despite my issues with the World Title scene on this show, everything else is delivering.

WrestleWizard · Nov 17, 2025

MONDAY NIGHT RAW
April 6th, 2015
Frank Erwin Center | Austin, TX

The show kicks off with no warning, fading directly into a wide shot of the pulsing Austin crowd before the arena is plunged into darkness. A single guitar riff cuts the silence, and Dolph Ziggler's "I'm Here to Show the World" explodes over the PA system. Ziggler bursts onto the stage without any pyro, all kinetic energy and swagger, his face a mask of pure intensity. He struts down the ramp and slides into the ring, pacing like a caged animal as he awaits his opponent.

Ziggler's music cuts, and after a brief, tense pause, the epic, swelling notes of "Ride of the Valkyries" hit. The entire Frank Erwin Center leaps to its feet as one, erupting in a deafening "YES!" chant. The new Intercontinental Champion, Daniel Bryan, emerges, marching onto the stage and thrusting his arms in the air with every beat. The sound is overwhelming as Bryan, his face a picture of pure focus, makes his way to the ring. He slides under the rope, holds the Intercontinental Championship high above his head in the center of the ring, and locks eyes with Ziggler. The music fades, leaving only the roar of the crowd as the two competitors stare each other down, ready to begin their Best of 7 Series.

Best of 7 Series - Match 1 Daniel Bryan vs. Dolph Ziggler

The bell rings, and a massive, divided "Let's go, Bryan! / Let's go, Ziggler!" chant rocks the arena. Both men circle each other cautiously, the weight of being the opening contest in a long series evident in their measured, intense stares. They lock up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, a classic display of technical wrestling. Bryan, with his mat-based prowess, quickly transitions into a side headlock, grinding his forearm into Dolph's temple. Ziggler, showing his own amateur background, shoots Bryan off into the ropes, but Bryan responds with a hard, unyielding shoulder block that sends Dolph crashing to the mat. The crowd "Ooohs" as Bryan hits the ropes again. Ziggler, anticipating, drops down to the canvas. Bryan hurdles him, rebounds off the far ropes, and this time Ziggler kips up and leapfrogs over Bryan. As Bryan turns, Ziggler explodes, connecting with a picture-perfect, high-arcing dropkick that lands flush. Ziggler hooks the leg! The referee counts—one... two... and Bryan kicks out. A near fall just 90 seconds in.

Both men reset and circle again, Ziggler smirking with confidence. They lock up once more, and this time Ziggler cinches in a deep side headlock, wrenching on Bryan's neck and trying to cut off the oxygen. Bryan, fighting for leverage, backs Ziggler into the ropes and shoots him off, but Ziggler, in a brilliant counter, holds onto the headlock, using his momentum to take Bryan down to the mat. Bryan, trapped, works his way back to his feet, grimacing as Ziggler squeezes. In a burst of strength, Bryan lifts Ziggler up and drills him with a back suplex, finally breaking the hold.

Both men are slow to rise. Bryan is first up and stalks Ziggler, who is sitting against the ropes. Bryan unleashes a series of hard, vicious kicks to Ziggler's chest. The crowd counts along, chanting "YES!" with each devastating shot—one, two, three, four, five, six kicks that echo through the arena. Bryan pulls Ziggler up and whips him hard into the corner, following up with a running dropkick that connects flush with Ziggler's face. Bryan drags him out, hooks the leg—one, two, Ziggler gets the shoulder up. Bryan, relentless, transitions smoothly into a grounded side headlock, trying to wear down the Showoff. Ziggler, his face turning red, fights back to a vertical base and delivers sharp elbows to Bryan's midsection, breaking free. He hits the ropes and connects with a desperate, flying clothesline. Both men are down.

They get to their feet, and the match descends into a brawl. They trade stiff forearm shots in the center of the ring, the crowd getting louder with each "BOO!" (for Ziggler) and "YEA!" (for Bryan). Ziggler gets the better of the exchange, staggering Bryan, and hits a standing elbow drop for a one count.

Ziggler pulls Bryan up and attempts an Irish whip, but Bryan reverses it, sending Ziggler into the corner. Bryan charges in, but Ziggler, showing his ring awareness, gets a boot up that catches Bryan square in the jaw, rocking him. Ziggler, seeing an opening, hops to the second rope and launches himself with a missile dropkick that connects perfectly, sending Bryan sprawling. Ziggler covers—one... two... Bryan kicks out again! Ziggler, showing frustration, pulls Bryan up and sets him up for a neckbreaker, but Bryan spins out of it, shoves Ziggler into the ropes, and on the rebound, goes for a back body drop. Ziggler, however, counters with a beautiful sunset flip for a near fall. Both men spring to their feet simultaneously, and Bryan catches Ziggler with a kitchen sink knee to the midsection, flipping Ziggler inside out.

Bryan takes control now, the aggressor. He pulls Ziggler to the corner and places him in a seated position on the bottom turnbuckle. Bryan backs up... the crowd rises... and he charges in with his signature hesitation dropkick, both feet crashing into Ziggler's face! The crowd chants "YES! YES! YES!" as Bryan pulls Ziggler out for a cover that gets a solid two count. Bryan pulls Ziggler up, his face a mask of intensity, and delivers a stiff European uppercut, followed by another, and another, backing Ziggler into the ropes. Bryan whips him across the ring and catches him on the rebound with a back elbow. Bryan, feeling the momentum, heads to the top rope, taking his time to set up. He leaps off with the diving headbutt... but Ziggler rolls out of the way at the last second! Bryan crashes hard into the mat, clutching his head in pain.

Both men are down as the referee begins his count. They reach their feet at seven, and Ziggler strikes first with a jawbreaker. Ziggler builds momentum with a series of quick, desperate punches, then hits a corner splash. He pulls Bryan out and plants him with a spinning DDT. Cover! One... two... Bryan kicks out! Ziggler is feeling it now, measuring Bryan as he slowly gets up. Ziggler signals for the Zig Zag, leaping onto Bryan's back... but Bryan holds onto the ropes! Ziggler crashes to the mat alone. Bryan, thinking quickly, capitalizes, grabbing Ziggler's legs and turning him over into a deep Boston Crab. Ziggler screams in pain as Bryan sits deep in the center of the ring, applying tremendous pressure. Ziggler claws toward the ropes, inch by agonizing inch, the crowd rallying behind him, finally grasping the bottom rope to force the break.

Bryan releases at four and immediately starts stomping on Ziggler's back and legs, viciously targeting the areas he just worked over. Bryan pulls Ziggler to the center of the ring and begins delivering his signature kicks to a seated Ziggler—hard kicks to the chest that echo throughout the arena. The crowd counts along again as Bryan lands seven consecutive kicks. He backs up, signaling for the knockout roundhouse kick to the head... but Ziggler ducks it! Ziggler, from his knees, quickly rolls Bryan up with a schoolboy! One... two... Bryan kicks out! Both men scramble to their feet, and Ziggler connects with a SUPERKICK out of nowhere! Bryan crumbles, but Ziggler is too exhausted to make an immediate cover. Ziggler drapes an arm over Bryan, and the referee counts—one... two... Bryan kicks out!

Ziggler can't believe it. He pulls himself up using the ropes and signals for another superkick, tuning up the band in the corner. Bryan slowly rises, and Ziggler charges for the superkick... but Bryan catches his foot! Bryan spins Ziggler around and immediately hooks him for a German suplex, bridging for the pin—one... two... Ziggler kicks out! Bryan, however, keeps his grip and pulls both of them up, delivering a second German suplex. He holds on again, pulling them both up once more, and delivers a third German suplex, this time bridging for another pin attempt that gets a near fall. The crowd is on their feet as both competitors show incredible resilience.

Bryan is up first and measures Ziggler, who's on his hands and knees. Bryan starts delivering the Yes Kicks—brutal roundhouse kicks to Ziggler's chest as the crowd chants "YES!" with each kick. One, two, three, four, five kicks connect. Bryan winds up for the final knockout kick to the head... but Ziggler ducks underneath it and, in a brilliant move, quickly pulls Bryan down into a small package! One... two... Bryan kicks out! Both men pop up, and Ziggler catches Bryan with a jumping DDT. Ziggler, desperate, heads to the corner and climbs to the top rope, which is unusual for him. He steadies himself and leaps off with a diving elbow drop, crashing down onto Bryan! Ziggler hooks the leg—one... two... Bryan kicks out again!

The clock has now passed thirteen minutes. Both men are showing signs of fatigue. Ziggler pulls Bryan up and sets him up for the Sleeper Hold, wrapping his arm around Bryan's neck and squeezing tight. Bryan struggles, trying to break free as the referee checks on him. Bryan's arm drops once. It drops twice. But on the third time, Bryan keeps it up! The crowd erupts as Bryan starts to fight back, delivering elbows to Ziggler's gut. Bryan breaks free and hits the ropes, but Ziggler catches him with a dropkick on the rebound. Ziggler immediately goes back to the Sleeper Hold, this time with a body-scissors, dragging Bryan down to the mat with it. Bryan's face turns red as Ziggler has it locked in deep. Bryan, with a last burst of energy, manages to maneuver his body, getting his foot on the bottom rope to force another break.

Ziggler releases, frustration etched on his face. He waits for Bryan to get up, stalking him from behind. As Bryan rises and turns around, Ziggler goes for the Zig Zag again... but Bryan holds onto the top rope! Ziggler crashes to the mat once more. Bryan quickly goes to the apron and waits for Ziggler to rise. As Ziggler gets up and turns around, Bryan springboards off the top rope with a flying clothesline... but Ziggler counters with a dropkick in mid-air! The collision is spectacular, and both men are laid out in the center of the ring.

The referee begins his count as the crowd rallies behind both competitors with a "This is awesome!" chant. At eight, both men reach their feet. They meet in the center of the ring and begin trading forearm shots again, neither man willing to back down. Bryan, Ziggler, Bryan, Ziggler—back and forth they go, both men running on fumes. Bryan switches it up and delivers a sharp kick to Ziggler's thigh, then another, and another, trying to chop the Showoff down. Bryan hits the ropes for momentum, but Ziggler catches him with a jumping elbow smash that staggers Bryan. Ziggler quickly follows up with a leaping DDT and floats over for a pin—one... two... Bryan kicks out! Ziggler immediately transitions into a front facelock, trying to wear Bryan down further.

Bryan fights back to his feet with Ziggler still holding the facelock. Bryan lifts Ziggler up for a vertical suplex, holding him vertical for several seconds to let the blood rush to Ziggler's head, before finally dropping him down. Bryan covers for a two count. Bryan pulls Ziggler up and sends him into the corner. Bryan follows up with a running European uppercut, then pulls Ziggler out and delivers a butterfly suplex. Bryan floats over into a grounded hammerlock, wrenching on Ziggler's arm and shoulder, targeting the limb. Ziggler grimaces in pain but refuses to submit. He manages to roll through and reverse the pressure, but Bryan quickly rolls as well, and both men end up separating.

They're back on their feet at fifteen and a half minutes. Bryan charges at Ziggler, who catches him with a back elbow. Ziggler quickly follows up with a neckbreaker and covers for two. Ziggler signals that it's time to end this, backing into the corner and preparing for the superkick. Bryan slowly gets to his feet, looking dazed. Ziggler charges forward with the superkick... but Bryan side-steps it and immediately traps Ziggler's arms, delivering a series of brutal, rapid-fire knee strikes to Ziggler's face and chest—one, two, three, four, five knees! Bryan releases Ziggler, who's on dream street. Bryan hits the ropes and comes back with the Busaiku Knee Kick... but Ziggler moves! Bryan crashes into the corner turnbuckle!

Ziggler quickly grabs Bryan from behind and rolls him up with a handful of tights that the referee doesn't see! One... two... Bryan kicks out! Ziggler argues with the referee about the count, giving Bryan precious seconds. He turns back to Bryan, who's getting to his feet. Ziggler charges for a corner splash, but Bryan moves, and Ziggler crashes chest-first into the turnbuckles. Bryan quickly pulls him back and delivers a German suplex. Bryan holds on, pulls them both up, and delivers a second German suplex. He holds on again and delivers a third! But Bryan still doesn't let go. He pulls them both up one more time and delivers a fourth German suplex! The crowd is going crazy as Bryan finally releases his grip.

Bryan goes to the corner and removes the protective pad from the top turnbuckle, showing a rare vicious streak, but the referee spots him and quickly moves to stop him, forcing Bryan to back away. While the referee is reattaching the turnbuckle pad, Ziggler recovers and quickly rolls Bryan up from behind with a schoolboy—one... two... thr... Bryan barely kicks out! Both men get to their feet, and Ziggler immediately goes for the Zig Zag, jumping on Bryan's back... but Bryan counters by running backward and crushing Ziggler against the corner turnbuckles! Bryan stumbles forward as Ziggler slumps in the corner. Bryan backs up and charges in with the running dropkick... but Ziggler moves, and Bryan crashes into the turnbuckles!

Ziggler quickly hooks Bryan and rolls him up with an inside cradle—one... two... Bryan kicks out again! The near falls are getting closer and closer. Both men are exhausted now at nearly seventeen minutes. They get to their feet simultaneously, and Ziggler goes for a superkick... but Bryan catches his foot! Bryan spins Ziggler around and immediately locks in the Yes Lock! He has Ziggler trapped in the center of the ring, pulling back on his neck and arm with everything he has. Ziggler screams in pain, his face contorted, reaching desperately for the ropes, but they're too far away. The crowd is on their feet, chanting "TAP! TAP! TAP!" Ziggler tries to roll through to break the hold, but Bryan holds on tight. Ziggler's hand hovers over the mat, looking like he's about to tap... but he balls his fist and refuses to give up.

With one final burst of energy, Ziggler manages to roll through, stacking Bryan up on his shoulders for a pin! One... two... Bryan has to release the hold to kick out!

Both men are down, completely spent. They slowly crawl toward opposite corners and use the ropes to pull themselves up. They meet in the center of the ring one more time, barely able to stand. Bryan strikes first with a forearm. Ziggler responds with one of his own. Bryan delivers another. Ziggler fires back. The strikes are slower now, both men running on fumes. Bryan suddenly explodes with a series of Yes Kicks to Ziggler's chest—one, two, three, four, five! Bryan winds up for the knockout kick to the head... and this time it connects! Ziggler crumbles to the mat, and Bryan collapses on top of him for the cover—one... two... Ziggler somehow gets his shoulder up!

Bryan can't believe it. He looks at the referee in disbelief, holding up three fingers, but the referee confirms it was only two. Bryan pulls himself up and signals for the Busaiku Knee. He backs into the corner, getting into position as Ziggler slowly, painfully rises to his feet. Bryan charges forward with the running knee strike... but Ziggler leapfrogs over him! Bryan hits the ropes and rebounds back... and Ziggler catches him with a picture-perfect SUPERKICK! Both men collapse to the mat, unable to capitalize. The referee begins his count. At seven, Ziggler drapes an arm over Bryan—one... two... thre... NO! Bryan kicks out at the last possible moment!

Ziggler is in complete shock. He pounds the mat, his eyes wide. He doesn't know what else he has to do. He slowly gets to his feet and waits in the corner once more, tuning up the band for another superkick. Bryan struggles to his feet, using the ropes for assistance. He turns around, and Ziggler charges with the superkick... but Bryan ducks! Ziggler spins around from the missed kick, right into a charge from Bryan... who's going for the Busaiku Knee! But Ziggler ducks his finisher! Bryan, having overshot, stumbles and turns around... Ziggler charges... ZIG ZAG! No, Bryan holds onto the top rope, sending Ziggler crashing to the mat! Ziggler scrambles to his feet, furious, and charges at Bryan, who is still by the ropes. Ziggler swings with a wild clothesline... Bryan ducks it, spins under the arm, and hooks Ziggler from behind... SMALL PACKAGE! Bryan has him rolled up tight! The referee slides in! One... Two... Three! He got him!

Winner: Daniel Bryan (leads series 1-0)

The bell rings at 17:11. Bryan's music hits as he rolls free, and the referee raises his hand. Ziggler sits up, an expression of pure, agonizing disbelief on his face—he was caught. Both men are exhausted, having put on a clinic. Ziggler rolls out of the ring, clutching his head, frustrated with the loss but having earned the crowd's adulation. Bryan, battered and breathing heavily, leads the entire Frank Erwin Center in a massive "YES!" chant, having secured the crucial first victory in the series.

Following the electric opening match, the camera cuts to the hushed, corporate elegance of Mr. McMahon's private office, where the Chairman sits calmly watching the show. The door suddenly explodes inward, revealing a frantic and furious Seth Rollins, clutching his WWE World Heavyweight Championship. He shrieks at Vince, incensed that "glorified midgets" opened the show instead of the "A-plus player." Vince, the picture of composure, rises and circles Rollins like a predator, praising his "moxie" before cutting him down, questioning if the champion has the same "hunger" as the men in the ring or if he's just a "flash in the pan." As Rollins sputters, Vince silences him and declares the main event needs to be a "pure test," banning The Authority—Kane, The Big Show, and J&J Security—from ringside under threat of being fired. A flash of panic on Rollins's face melts into a sly grin as he suggests that if his men are banned, Randy Orton must also be banned from commentary. Vince agrees, and Rollins is flooded with cocky relief, believing he's secured a fair one-on-one fight. But Vince's predatory smile only widens as he announces he'll "guarantee" a decisive winner by appointing a Special Guest Referee: "That man... is me." The color drains from Rollins's face, replaced by a pure, undiluted terror of the chaotic and egomaniacal Chairman. As Rollins stammers, Vince adds the final twist: since Randy Orton is now free, he'll be competing tonight against The Big Show. With Rollins's entire support system eviscerated, Vince dismisses him with two sharp, stinging slaps to the cheek and a warning—"Don't... disappoint me"—leaving the champion to flee the office in a primal scream of panic as the scene fades on Vince's satisfied smirk.

The arena lights bleed out, replaced by a single, cold, blue spotlight. The mood becomes instantly somber as Paige’s music hits—not the driving, aggressive theme the crowd is used to, but a haunting, minor-key piano rendition. She emerges onto the ramp, not with her usual manic skip, but with a slow, broken, dead-eyed shuffle, as if walking in a trance. She's dressed in simple black jeans and a grey t-shirt, her hair limp, her face pale. Mascara streaks are visibly running down her cheeks. She clutches a microphone, holding it like a lifeline. The crowd immediately rains down a torrential downpour of boos, showering her with "You sold out!" chants. She flinches viscerally at every shout, as if each one is a physical blow. She slowly climbs the ring steps and slumps into the center of the ring, where she stands for a full, agonizing minute, just absorbing the hatred, her shoulders shaking.

Finally, she lifts the mic, her hand trembling violently. "Please," she whispers, her voice cracking and barely audible. The boos quiet to a low, angry murmur, the crowd straining to hear her. "Please... just... just listen." She takes a gasping, shaky breath. "I know what you think of me. And you're right. You are... you're all right." She lets out a gut-wrenching half-sob, half-laugh. "I came here... I came here to be the 'Anti-Diva.' I came here to save this division from... from them. From the models. From the plastic... a-and I failed." She shakes her head, fresh tears welling up. "I failed you. But worse... I failed... her."

"You don't know what it's like," Paige continues, her voice gaining a desperate, pleading edge. "You don't know what they do. The Bellas. Nikki. Brie. Every single day backstage... 'You're a freak, Paige.' 'No one will ever love you, Paige.' 'Go back to England, you pale, gothic... thing.'" She stops, choking on the words, as if the memory is too painful. "They told me I was nothing. That I would be nothing unless I played their game. And they got in my head! They poisoned me! They made me paranoid! They made me believe that the one person... the only person who ever had my back... was just trying to steal my spotlight."

Paige's demeanor shifts to one of pure, pathetic begging. She looks directly into the hard camera, her eyes wide and pleading. "AJ... I know you're back there. I know you can hear me. What I did... it wasn't me! It was them! They drove me to it! They made me hate you, but I never did! I was just... I was so scared. I was so alone. And I... I just want my friend back." She collapses to her knees in the center of the ring, her facade of strength completely shattered, and she's now sobbing openly. "Please, AJ! Come out here! I am begging you! Forget me! Let's... let's take on the real enemy. Let's do what we said we would do. Let's save this division... together."

A tense, heavy silence falls over the arena. Then, AJ Lee’s "Light It Up" music explodes over the PA, and the crowd erupts. AJ appears on the ramp, but she isn't skipping. She's in her ring gear, but she walks out slowly, methodically, her head tilted in that way that signifies profound, dangerous skepticism. She stops on the ramp, a predator surveying a trap, staring at the kneeling, sobbing Paige. Paige scrams to her feet, her face lit up with a desperate, pathetic hope. "AJ! You came!" AJ continues her slow, cautious walk, circling the ring before sliding under the bottom rope. She stands in the opposite corner, a wall of distance between them, her eyes never leaving Paige, scanning her for any sign of a trick.

The crowd, sensing AJ's hesitation, immediately picks up a new chant: "NO! NO! NO! NO!" Paige, hearing it, shakes her head, more tears flowing. "No, no, please... AJ, don't listen to them. Listen to me. Listen to your heart." Paige drops the microphone, sliding it away with her foot—a symbolic gesture of "no more words." She takes a tentative step forward, her hands outstretched, palms up, in a gesture of total surrender. "I'm sorry, AJ. I am so, so sorry. For everything." Paige's face is a picture of 'sincere' remorse. She takes another step and opens her arms for a hug.

AJ doesn't move. She just stares. The "NO!" chant gets louder, a deafening warning, a wall of sound. AJ looks at the crowd, her face a mask of raw conflict, then back at Paige. She sees the runny mascara, the trembling lip, the desperation... she sees the "friend" she once had. Her stone-cold expression softens, just for a fraction of a second. The crowd lets out a collective groan. Is it possible? Is she buying this? AJ takes one agonizingly slow, hesitant step forward. She slowly, reluctantly, begins to raise her arms, as if to accept the embrace. Paige's tearful, waiting expression remains locked. They are inches apart, the tension so thick the arena can't breathe.

The moment AJ’s hands graze Paige’s shoulders, Paige snaps.

Her entire demeanor shifts in a nanosecond. The tears evaporate. Her eyes go from desperate to venomous. In a single, vicious motion, she swings her right hand and slaps AJ across the face with a crack that silences the entire arena. The crowd lets out a unified, horrified gasp. AJ stumbles back, her hand flying to her cheek, her face a picture of pure, soul-crushing shock and betrayal. Paige stands tall, a slow, psychotic, triumphant smile spreading across her face. She leans in close to AJ's ear, her voice a low, mocking, venomous hiss: "You were always so gullible!"

Before AJ can even register the pain, Paige tackles her to the mat, mounting her like an animal and raining down a sickening flurry of stiff, closed-fist punches to the temple. A referee tries to intervene, but Paige shoves him contemptuously to the ground. She yanks AJ up by her hair, hooks her arms with a terrifying, practiced ease, and drops her face-first onto the mat with a brutal Ram-Paige. AJ's body goes limp, a discarded doll, but Paige isn't finished. The boos are deafening, a wall of pure hatred. Paige, feeding on it, drags AJ's lifeless body toward the center of the ring. She grabs AJ by the legs and sinks in the PTO, not as a submission, but as a torture device, a final, agonizing punctuation mark. She wrenches back, screaming, "You're nothing! You're a stupid, naive little girl!" She holds the submission, grinding her boot into AJ's spine, until a half-dozen officials are forced to sprint from the back, finally prying her off.

Paige shoves them away, her face smeared in AJ's makeup, a twisted, manic grin plastered on her face. She skips maniacally around the ring, blowing sarcastic, poisonous kisses to the horrified crowd as her original, aggressive, pounding music blares. She exits the ring, skipping backward up the ramp, her head thrown back, cackling, leaving AJ Lee completely broken, betrayed, and humiliated in her wake.

Kalisto vs. Cesaro (w/ Tyson Kidd & Natalya)

The bell rings, and the stark contrast in size and power is immediately evident. The Swiss Superman looks down at Kalisto with a mixture of amusement and disdain. At ringside, Tyson Kidd and Natalya take their positions, with Kidd already shouting instructions.

The two competitors lock up, and Cesaro immediately transitions into a side headlock, wrenching down on Kalisto's neck and lifting him completely off his feet while maintaining the headlock, showing off his raw power. He pats Kalisto condescendingly on the top of his mask before shoving him backward to the canvas. Kalisto rolls through and springs back to his feet, charging at Cesaro, who catches him mid-run and effortlessly tosses him overhead with a massive overhead belly-to-belly suplex. Cesaro doesn't cover, instead pulling Kalisto up by his mask in a show of disrespect.

Cesaro whips Kalisto into the corner with tremendous force. The Swiss Superman charges in with a running European uppercut, but at the last possible second, Kalisto leaps straight up, planting his feet on the middle ropes and vaulting over the incoming Cesaro. Before Cesaro can turn around, Kalisto springboards off the middle rope and connects with a beautiful springboard crossbody for a one-count. Cesaro powers out with such force that he launches Kalisto into the air.

Undeterred, Kalisto hits the ropes and connects with a low dropkick to Cesaro's knee, chopping the big man down. He follows with a second dropkick to the face. The luchador quickly ascends to the top turnbuckle and leaps off with a diving crossbody, but Cesaro catches him in mid-air. With a smirk, Cesaro spins a full 360 degrees before launching Kalisto across the ring with a devastating fallaway slam.

Cesaro stalks over to the corner, delivering a series of brutal knife-edge chops that echo through the arena. He whips Kalisto across the ring, and the luchador bounces out, staggering directly into a picture-perfect tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. Cesaro holds Kalisto across his knee for a moment before shoving him off and covering for a two-count. Cesaro pulls Kalisto up and hooks him for a gutwrench suplex, holding him aloft for a good five seconds before driving him down. Cesaro drags Kalisto toward the center of the ring and begins the Cesaro Swing. Five rotations. Ten. Fifteen. After an incredible twenty full rotations, Cesaro releases Kalisto and covers. One! Two! Kalisto somehow kicks out.

Cesaro, frustrated, lifts Kalisto for a vertical suplex. However, Kalisto shifts his weight in mid-air, slipping out and landing on his feet behind him. Kalisto leaps up and connects with a desperation enzuigiri that catches Cesaro flush. Both men are down. Kalisto is up first, feeding off the crowd. He explodes with a handspring back elbow, followed by a spinning headscissors takedown. As Cesaro gets to his feet, Kalisto hits a hurricanrana that sends the powerhouse flying through the middle rope to the floor.

With Cesaro down on the outside, Kalisto hits the ropes and dives through with a spectacular suicide dive, but Cesaro sidesteps. Kalisto anticipated this, grabbing the middle rope and using it to swing his body around, planting both feet into Cesaro's chest with a modified dropkick that sends Cesaro crashing into the barricade. Kalisto rolls Cesaro back in and climbs to the top, his back to the ring. He leaps backward with a corkscrew moonsault, but Cesaro rolls out of the way. Kalisto crashes hard.

Cesaro is first to his feet and hooks Kalisto for the Neutralizer. Before he can lift him, Kalisto drops to his knees, slips through Cesaro's grasp, and pops up behind him. As Cesaro spins around, Kalisto connects with a devastating superkick that rocks the Swiss Superman. Kalisto charges, but Tyson Kidd reaches up from the outside and grabs Kalisto's ankle, tripping him. The referee is out of position and doesn't see it. Cesaro recovers and hooks Kalisto once again for the Neutralizer, lifting him up.

But as Cesaro prepares to drop him, Tyson Kidd jumps onto the ring apron and begins shouting at the referee, demanding he ask if Kalisto wants to quit. The referee immediately turns his attention to Kidd. This distraction causes Cesaro to momentarily look toward his partner. That split-second loss of focus is all Kalisto needs. He slips his arms free, slides down Cesaro's body, and rolls him up with a small package pin. The referee, having just turned around, drops to count. One! Two! Three!

Winner: Kalisto

Kalisto rolls out of the ring, his arm raised in victory, as Cesaro sits up in complete disbelief. Tyson Kidd stares in horror, realizing his interference backfired catastrophically. Inside the ring, Cesaro pounds the mat in rage, screaming at Kidd "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" The two tag team champions begin arguing as Kalisto celebrates on the ramp, driving another wedge between the volatile champions.

The arena is plunged into darkness. A dark, chilling video package, set to a distorted, glitching music box tune, fills the Titantron. It shows R-Truth's fluke roll-up win over Stardust last week, immediately followed by Stardust's psychotic breakdown at ringside. We see him screaming, shattering the ringside barricade monitors, and tearing at his own face paint, his manic laughter echoing. The video then cuts to the horrifying, one-sided assault on his brother, Goldust, culminating in three sickening Cross Rhodes, shown in brutal slow motion. The package ends not on the logo, but on an abrupt, terrifying close-up of Stardust's wide, lost eyes before cutting to black.

A single, cold spotlight hits the ramp. A haunting, slow, orchestral piece begins to play—a funereal dirge of violins and cellos. He emerges. He is not Stardust. He is "The Nightmare," Cody Rhodes. He is wearing a pristine, dark, three-piece suit. His face is a cold, empty, porcelain mask, devoid of any recognizable human feeling. He walks with a slow, deliberate, methodical pace, not acknowledging the booing, uncomfortably silent crowd. He doesn't look left or right. He walks to the ring, calmly ascends the steps, and stands in his corner, his back to the turnbuckle, perfectly still, as if he's not even there.

R-Truth's "What's Up" music hits, a jarring, unwelcome blast of energy against the cold silence. Truth comes out, dancing and rapping, clearly trying to lighten the deeply unsettling mood. He slides into the ring, his face a mask of confusion as he looks at the motionless Cody. The referee, looking nervous, calls for the bell.
"The Nightmare" Cody Rhodes vs. R-Truth

The bell rings. R-Truth, trying to break the tension, shuffles his feet and yells to the crowd, "WHAT'S UP?!"

Before Truth can even finish the word "up," Cody explodes from his corner. He doesn't run; he sprints, tackling Truth like a linebacker and driving him clear across the ring, his spine crashing into the turnbuckles. Cody immediately mounts him, raining down stiff, precise, methodical closed-fist punches to the temple. These are not wild, angry swings; they are cold, targeted, rhythmic strikes, like a machine. The referee tries to intervene, yelling at Cody to get off, but Cody ignores him, forcing the ref to physically haul him off.

Cody stands up. He doesn't hyperventilate. He doesn't taunt. He calmly brushes a piece of lint from his suit sleeve, adjusts his waistcoat, and straightens his tie. R-Truth, dazed, stumbles to his feet. Cody walks forward, grabs him, and delivers a single, vicious stomp to R-Truth's knee, buckling it. Truth collapses, screaming.

This isn't a match; it's a dissection. For two agonizing minutes, Cody systematically takes Truth apart. He traps Truth's arm and delivers three vicious stomps to the exposed elbow. He pulls Truth up, only to drop him with a bone-jarring European uppercut. The crowd's boos have faded into a low, uncomfortable murmur. This is pure, cold, calculated torture.

Cody, seeing Truth is dazed and barely conscious, slowly pulls him up by his head. He stares into Truth's eyes, and for the first time, a flicker of emotion appears: a slow, unsettling smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He hooks the arms and hits a vicious, snapping Cross Rhodes, driving Truth's face into the mat.

He doesn't stop. He calmly kneels, lays one hand perfectly flat on R-Truth's chest, and looks at the referee. The referee, almost scared, drops to the mat.

One... Two... Three.

Winner: "The Nightmare" Cody Rhodes

Cody's haunting orchestral music begins to swell. He stands up, his face once again an empty mask. He hasn't broken a sweat. But he's not finished.

As his music plays, Cody calmly exits the ring. He walks over to the steel steps, his movements still slow and deliberate. The crowd, sensing what's coming, begins to scream "NO! NO!" Cody ignores them. He grabs the top half of the steel steps and, with a terrifying, cold strength, slides them under the bottom rope and into the center of the ring.

The referee is pleading with him. "Cody, the match is over! Get out of here! Don't do this!"

Cody re-enters the ring, stepping over the referee's arm as if he isn't there. He grabs the completely unconscious R-Truth by the hair and drags his limp body onto the flat, unforgiving steel of the steps. He slowly, methodically, hooks Truth's arms, setting him up for another Cross Rhodes... this time onto the steel. He's going to break his neck.

"GOLDEN!"

Goldust's music explodes over the PA, and the crowd erupts. Goldust sprints down the ramp, not in his regalia, but in black ring gear, his face a mask of pure panic and rage. He slides into the ring at full speed and tackles Cody, breaking his grip on R-Truth just a second before Cody could deliver the devastating move.

Goldust shoves his brother back, his chest heaving. He stands over the fallen R-Truth, creating a human shield. Cody, who stumbled back, slowly straightens his suit jacket. He doesn't look angry. He doesn't look surprised. He looks... satisfied. A cold, knowing smile creeps back onto his face. He got what he wanted.

Goldust, seeing Truth is being attended to by officials, turns his full attention to his brother and snatches a microphone from the timekeeper's area.

Goldust: "Cody! CODY! STOP! What is wrong with you?! This isn't you! ... This is your brother! This isn't you! This... this psycho in a suit... this isn't the man I know! This isn't my brother!"

(Cody stands on the ramp, his back to the ring for a moment. He slowly turns. His face is cold, empty. He slowly raises his own microphone, his hand perfectly steady. He lets the boos wash over him for a good 20 seconds. He's in no hurry. He's savoring this.)

Goldust: "Look at me! CODY! This is Dustin! This is your brother! TALK TO ME, DAMMIT!"

(Cody lets out a single, sharp, mirthless laugh that cuts through the boos.)

Cody: "My... 'brother'?" (He says the word like it's foreign, like it tastes like ash in his mouth.) "That's the problem, Dustin. That's always been the problem."

(He takes a few slow, deliberate, predatory steps down the ramp. He stops halfway.)

Cody: "You stand in that ring... in my ring... and you have the audacity to invoke our family... after what you did to it?"

Goldust: (His face a mask of pained confusion) "What I did? Cody, what are you talking about? I've been trying to help you! For months, I tried to..."

Cody: (He cuts him off with a shout) "'HELP' ME?! You call that 'help'?!" (He lets out that cold laugh again.) "For twenty years, Dustin, you have been an embarrassment. A sideshow. A pathetic... diversion. You took our father's name... our family's legacy... a legacy built by the 'American Dream'... and you twisted it. You perverted it. You painted your face, you wore a wig, you... you disgusted people. You disgusted me."

(The crowd is uncomfortably silent. Goldust is shaking his head, tears welling in his eyes.)

Cody: (He continues his slow walk, circling the ring like a shark) "I was 'Dashing.' I was the Intercontinental Champion. I was Cody Rhodes. I was honoring his name! I was winning wrestling matches! And where did it get me? Where, Dustin? It got me... you."

Cody: "Suddenly, 'Dashing' wasn't good enough. Being a wrestler wasn't good enough. No, I had to... 'find myself.' And who was there to 'guide' me? My big brother." (He says 'big brother' with dripping, venomous sarcasm.) "'Stardust' wasn't my idea, Dustin. 'Stardust' was your disease. It was your sickness. And I caught it. I had to become your freak, your 'partner,' your gold-painted... joke... just to get a spot on the show. Just to stay relevant. You didn't elevate me... you dragged me down into your pathetic, glittering circus."

Goldust: "No... no, that's not true! We were champions, Cody! We were a team! We did it... (his voice cracks) ...we did it for Dad!"

(This is the trigger. Cody snaps. His cold demeanor breaks for a second, replaced by pure, white-hot, trembling rage. He grips the mic so hard his knuckles are white. He storms to the ring and stands on the steps, staring up at his brother.)

Cody: "DO NOT... SAY HIS NAME."

(The arena goes dead quiet. This is no longer a performance. This is real.)

Cody: "You don't get to talk about him. You never got it, did you? You were the joke... and he loved you for it."

(Goldust looks stunned, as if Cody just slapped him. He's shaking his head, "no, no...")

Cody: "You're my shame, Dustin. My shadow. And the worst part? The absolute worst part? ... Dad let you. He... he applauded you." (Cody's voice cracks, just for a second, with a lifetime of genuine, buried pain.)

Cody: "I remember... I remember sitting at home. I'd just had a five-star match... a wrestling match... and I'd call him. And he'd say, 'That's good, son, that's good.' ...And then he'd change the subject. He'd say, 'Did you see your brother? He lit himself on fire!' or 'He fell off a truck! It was the funniest thing I ever saw!' ... He loved the 'Golden Freak' more than he loved his own son who was trying to be a champion."

Cody: (He's nearly in tears, but they are tears of rage, not sadness) "You were his court jester. His favorite toy. And I... I was just the other son. The one who wasn't 'special.' The one who wasn't a... freak. ... You didn't just embarrass me, Dustin. You stole him from me."

(Cody takes a deep, steadying breath. The 'Nightmare' returns. The coldness floods his face again. He steps onto the ring apron.)

Cody: "So, I have to erase it. I have to fix what you broke. I have to cleanse the family name. I have to erase the paint. I have to erase the past. And Dustin... I have to erase you. ... At Extreme Rules, I'm challenging you. Not to a match. This isn't about wins and losses. This is an... extermination. I am going to end 'Goldust' for good. I am going to scrub your golden stain off of our family's name... forever."

(Goldust is openly weeping now. He's shaking his head, the microphone trembling in his hand. He lets it fall to the mat.)

Goldust: (Voice cracking, desperate) "No... No, Cody. Please... I'm not doing it. I can't." (He's sobbing, pleading) "I... I refuse to fight my brother! I won't do it! I don't care what you think, I don't care what you say... I won't be the one to destroy our family. I won't."

(Cody's face, which was twisted in rage, suddenly softens. The "Nightmare" is gone. He looks... remorseful. He drops his own microphone on the apron and slowly enters the ring. The crowd is confused. He walks toward his broken-down brother. Goldust is looking down, sobbing.)

Cody: "Dustin..." (He says it softly. Goldust looks up, his eyes red and full of pain.)

Cody: "You're right."

(Goldust looks shocked. "What?")

Cody: "You're right... brother."

(Cody extends his hand. A peace offering. The crowd murmurs, unsure. Is this it? Is the "Nightmare" gone? Goldust looks at the hand, then at Cody's "sincere" face. He's desperate to believe. He wants his brother back. He slowly, hesitantly, reaches out...

...and Cody YANKS him in.

It's not a handshake. It's a trap. In a sickeningly violent motion, Cody yanks him in and delivers a vicious low blow. Goldust collapses in a heap, gasping.)

(The crowd explodes in a unified chorus of "ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!"

Cody mounts his brother, the man who was just weeping for him, and rains down a flurry of stiff, closed-fist punches to his head. He's screaming, his face contorted in a mask of rage, "YOU'LL FIGHT ME! YOU'LL FIGHT ME!"

(The referee tries to pull him off, but Cody shoves him away. He yanks Goldust up by the head, hooks his arms... CROSS RHODES. He plants his brother in the center of the ring.

But he's not done. The boos are deafening. He picks Goldust up again, a dead weight, and hits a second, even more violent CROSS RHODES. Goldust is out cold.

Cody scrambles and grabs the microphone he dropped. He stands over his brother's broken body, his pristine suit now disheveled, his face flush with victory.)

Cody: "You'll fight me... or I'll end you. The nightmare... has just begun."

(Cody drops the mic on Goldust's chest. He stands, breathing heavily, as a half-dozen officials rush the ring to check on the broken Goldust. Cody slowly exits, his cold, empty expression returned, and walks up the ramp, never once looking back at the carnage he left behind.)

Sheamus vs. Neville

The bell rings. Sheamus roars and, in an immediate show of disrespect, charges from his corner for a Brogue Kick. Neville drops flat to the mat, a blur of motion, and the massive boot whistles inches over his head. Sheamus, furious, turns and charges again, but Neville is too fast. He ducks a wild, clubbing lariat, hits the ropes, and as Sheamus spins, Neville slides clean between his legs and kips up, facing him. Frustrated, Sheamus swings a wild, looping clothesline. Neville ducks under it and explodes with a blistering series of low kicks to Sheamus's left thigh. The sound cracks through the arena—thwack! thwack! thwack!—each kick landing on the same spot, chopping the big man down. Sheamus winces, his leg buckling. Neville follows with a spinning back-kick to the same thigh, then a stiff roundhouse to the gut that forces the hobbled Sheamus into the corner. Neville sees his opening and charges...

...only to be caught by an explosive, high-impact lariat. Sheamus didn't just clothesline him; he lunged from the corner with a decapitating blow that turned Neville inside out and upside down, flattening the smaller man with sickening force. The bully has caught the pest.

Sheamus, a cruel, sadistic grin spreading across his face, begins a methodical, punishing offense. He grabs Neville by the hair, deadlifts him, and drags his limp body to the ropes. He drapes Neville's chest over the top rope, leans in to roar at the booing crowd, and then unleashes the Ten Beats of the Bodhrán. The arena counts along to the sickening, clubbing forearms to Neville's back and chest. ...eight, nine, ten... Sheamus doesn't stop, hitting an extra eleven, twelve, thirteen crushing blows before the referee is forced to physically pull him off.

Sheamus yanks Neville back into the center of the ring, hooks him, and delivers a bone-jarring Irish Curse backbreaker, Neville's spine bending over Sheamus's knee. He holds on, pulls the gasping Neville back to his feet, and hits a second, even more vicious Irish Curse. He still holds on, screaming in Neville's face, and plants him with a third, devastating backbreaker. Sheamus is in total control, grounding the high-flyer. He doesn't go for the pin. Instead, he drops a knee into Neville's back and locks in a grinding, suffocating chin lock, twisting Neville's head and cutting off his air supply. "This is my yard, fella!" he screams.

But Neville, running on pure adrenaline, fights back. He delivers elbows to Sheamus's head, but Sheamus just clubs him with a forearm and sets him on the top turnbuckle, looking for a superplex to end it. Neville refuses to quit. He explodes with a flurry of headbutts, staggering the big man. He shoves Sheamus, who crashes hard to the mat below. Neville stands, balances himself on the top rope, and leaps, connecting with a picture-perfect missile dropkick that sends Sheamus sliding clear across the ring.

Neville kips up, and the crowd comes alive! He hits a running forearm that rocks Sheamus. He hits the ropes and hits a second, flying forearm that sends Sheamus stumbling. Neville hits the ropes again, but Sheamus goes for a clothesline... Neville ducks, hits the far ropes, and comes back with a spectacular, spinning, flailing head-scissors takedown! Sheamus, desperate and dizzy, rolls to the outside to catch his breath... but there is no escape. Neville sees him, hits the ropes, and flies over the top with a breathtaking, high-arching corkscrew moonsault that wipes Sheamus out on the floor.

The arena chants "NE-VILLE!" He throws the 260-pound Sheamus back in, scrambles to the top, and hits a diving crossbody. Sheamus, using his power, catches him and rolls through, holding Neville's shoulders down for a pin! One... Neville bridges out, reversing the leverage into a backslide! One... Sheamus powers out. Both men spring up, and Neville connects with a stunning superkick to the jaw! Sheamus is stunned! Neville hits a second superkick! Sheamus doesn't fall, but he drops to his knees, dazed. Neville, seeing his chance, hits the ropes and connects with a picture-perfect standing shooting star press, crashing down onto Sheamus! He hooks the leg! One... Two... Sheamus explodes out at 2.9! The referee's hand was inches from the mat.

Neville smells blood. He crawls to the corner and begins the slow, dramatic ascent. He's going for the Red Arrow. He stands on the top rope, a tiny figure against the massive arena. He steadies himself. He leaps... twisting in the air...

But Sheamus rolls just two feet, out of the way.

Neville crashes hard onto the canvas, landing directly on his ribs and stomach. All the air is driven from his lungs in a sickening whoosh. He's not moving, just gasping for air like a fish out of water, his body convulsing.

A cruel, predatory grin spreads across Sheamus's face. He stalks Neville, backing into the far corner, pounding his chest, signaling for the Brogue Kick. He's going to end this. The crowd is screaming "NO!" Neville stumbles to his hands and knees... and slowly, painfully, pulls himself to a vertical base, his body slumped, dazed, an easy target.

Sheamus roars and charges for the kill!

Neville ducks! He ducks the Brogue Kick! Sheamus, from his own momentum, crashes leg-first into the corner turnbuckle!

Sheamus spins around, howling in pain, clutching his leg... right into Neville, who dives forward and hooks him in a small package! He's got him trapped! The referee drops! One... Two... Three! NEVILLE GOT HIM!

Winner: Neville

Neville's music, "Break Orbit," hits, and the arena erupts. He has done it. He has survived. Neville, in a state of pure, agonized shock, scrambles and rolls under the bottom rope, clutching his ribs, a gasp of pain on his face. He stumbles to his feet on the floor, and the referee raises his hand.

Inside the ring, Sheamus is apoplectic. His face is a furious shade of crimson. He gets in the referee's face, screaming, "HE PULLED THE TIGHTS! HE'S A THIEF! THAT'S NOT THREE! HE CHEATED!" He shoves the referee, who stumbles back. The crowd is booing him out of the building, laughing at his humiliation. Neville, meanwhile, is backing up the ramp, a mix of elation and agony, turning to the crowd and raising his arm.

Sheamus's rage suddenly goes cold. He stops screaming. He looks at Neville celebrating on the ramp. With a terrifying, predatory calm, Sheamus stalks out of the ring and marches up the steel ramp. Neville, hearing the boos intensify, turns around...

BROGUE KICK!

Sheamus's boot connects with a sickening crack, nearly decapitating Neville. Neville's head snaps back, and he collapses in a limp, unconscious heap on the steel ramp. The victory, the celebration—all of it—is erased in an instant. The crowd's cheers turn to a deafening, horrified wall of boos.

Sheamus isn't finished. He looks down at the "little fella" with pure, unadulterated contempt. He snarls, then starts backing up, pounding his chest and roaring. He's signaling for another Brogue Kick, this one to maim the rookie. He charges...

"Retaliation" explodes over the PA system, and the crowd comes unglued! Dean Ambrose, his eyes wide and unhinged, sprints full-tilt from the back, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. He's not here for a match; he's here for a fight. He slides onto the ramp just as Sheamus is about to connect with Neville, forcing Sheamus to stop his kick. Sheamus, surprised, swings a wild, clubbing haymaker. Ambrose, with his brawler's instinct, ducks under it and unloads—a flurry of piston-like jabs, chops, and slaps that back the bigger man up against the Titantron. Ambrose charges with a lariat... but Sheamus doesn't go down. The Celtic Warrior just stumbles back, enraged, not hurt.

Sheamus roars and charges, and it's not wrestling; it's a pier-six brawl. They are trading stiff, desperate, wild-swinging haymakers. Ambrose, with a running start, hits a flying clothesline that doesn't take Sheamus down but sends both men tumbling violently off the side of the ramp, crashing onto the hard concrete floor below!

Ambrose is up first, running on pure adrenaline. His eyes are wide, and he's screaming. He rips the top off the Spanish announce table, clearing the monitors, looking for a Dirty Deeds. But Sheamus cuts him off with a brutal kick to the gut. With a primal roar, Sheamus gorilla presses Ambrose up... and slams him spine-first into the unforgiving steel barricade.

Sheamus, his eyes now as wild as Ambrose's, tears at the ringside mat. He pulls back the protective black padding, exposing the cold, hard concrete underneath. He's trying to maim Ambrose. He grabs Ambrose by the hair, trying to drag him over for a piledriver... but Ambrose fights back, delivering a desperate, low-angle tackle that drives Sheamus's shoulder and head directly into the corner of the steel steps. The sound is sickening.

Ambrose stumbles to his feet, grabs a steel chair, and swings for the fences... but Sheamus, with incredible timing, delivers a massive big boot to the chair, sending it flying out of Ambrose's hands and spinning into the front row. Sheamus, seeing his chance to escape, scrambles over the barricade and tries to flee through the crowd.

Ambrose is right behind him. He launches himself over the barricade, tackling Sheamus into a sea of fans who scatter, screaming. They are brawling deep in the crowd now. Sheamus shoves Ambrose off, sees a fan holding a full cup of beer, snatches it, and shatters the plastic cup against Ambrose's forehead. Ambrose, blinded by beer and rage, doesn't stop. He just roars and tackles Sheamus again, sending them both tumbling back down the concrete aisle steps, crashing through the barricade railing, and landing in a heap back at ringside.

They claw their way back to their feet, trading exhausted, sloppy haymakers, and brawl their way back up the steel ramp. Ambrose gets the upper hand, kicking Sheamus in the gut. He hooks Sheamus's arms. He's going for the Dirty Deeds on the steel ramp! The crowd senses it!

But Sheamus uses his raw, desperate power. He drives his hips forward, blocks the move, and hoists Ambrose up, up, up... and launches him with a brutal back-body-drop. Ambrose's back bounces off the unforgiving steel.

Sheamus isn't done. He stands over the dazed Ambrose, his mohawk a mess, his chest bright red, snarling. He grabs Ambrose by the head, deadlifts him into the air... and plants him with a White Noise on the steel ramp. The thud of Ambrose's body hitting the metal echoes through the arena. Ambrose is motionless.

Sheamus stands over him, roaring in triumph. Suddenly, a swarm of officials, referees, and backstage producers, including Finlay, pour out from the back, swarming both men. They are screaming at Sheamus, who shoves them away, and desperately trying to check on the unmoving Ambrose. It's pure, unadulterated chaos. The camera zooms in on the carnage, on Sheamus roaring, and on the motionless bodies of both Neville and Ambrose littering the entranceway as the show abruptly cuts to commercial.

Randy Orton vs. The Big Show

The bell rings, and Orton immediately tries to use his speed, darting in with right hands, but Big Show shoves him with one hand, sending Orton flying backward and tumbling out of the ring. The crowd boos as Show smirks, showing the impossible power differential. Orton slides back in, cautious, and tries to go for the legs, landing a stiff kick to Show's knee. He tries for another, but Show catches his foot, spins him around, and flattens him with a thunderous clothesline.

Big Show is now in complete control, his fury palpable. He plants a massive boot on Orton's chest, pressing down with all his weight as the referee pleads with him. He pulls Orton up and delivers a headbutt that echoes through the arena, sending Orton crashing back to the mat. Show, relishing the punishment, signals for silence. He rears back and delivers a "Shhh" chop that sounds like a car crash, the skin on Orton's chest instantly turning a bright, angry red. Show follows up, whipping Orton into the corner with such force that the Viper collapses in a heap.

Show pulls Orton out, measures him, and delivers a massive leg drop, covering for a one-count before yanking Orton up by the head, wanting to inflict more pain. He sets Orton up for a Chokeslam in the center of the ring. He lifts his hand... but Orton, with veteran instinct, starts delivering rapid-fire elbows to Show's gut, breaking the grip. Orton hits the ropes, but Show catches him with a huge spear that cuts the Viper in half. Show covers... 1... 2... Orton kicks out!

Big Show, now getting frustrated, decides to end it. He pulls Orton near the corner and slowly begins to climb to the second rope, signaling for the Vader Bomb. As Show steadies his massive frame, Orton springs to life! He jumps up, delivers a stiff right hand, and another, and another, staggering the giant. Orton climbs up to meet him and, in an incredible display of strength, hooks Show's head, trying for a superplex. Show shoves him off. Orton crashes to the mat but lands on his feet! As Show turns on the ropes, Orton leaps up and connects with a picture-perfect dropkick, sending the giant crashing down to the canvas.

Both men are down, but the crowd is roaring for Orton. The Viper begins to stir, that familiar, predatory look in his eyes. He sees Show pulling himself up using the ropes and pounces, beginning his signature stomps, methodically picking the giant apart—stomping the ankle, the knee, the gut, the arm, the head. Orton is a machine, disassembling his target. He backs up, waiting for Show to rise. As Show stumbles to his feet, Orton grabs him... but Show shoves him to the ropes. Orton rebounds... and Show catches him by the throat! He’s going for the Chokeslam again!

But as Show lifts him, Orton twists in mid-air, slipping out behind the giant. Show turns around, confused... and Orton kicks him in the gut, hooks his head, and drops him with the hanging DDT! The crowd is on their feet! Orton hears the voices. He drops to the mat, pounding it, signaling for the RKO. He's got the giant right where he wants him.

Suddenly, Kane's music doesn't hit, but the Director of Operations, also banned from the main event, appears on the entrance ramp, his face a mask of cold fury. He just stands there, watching, a clear and present threat.

The distraction is all Show needs. As Orton's eyes flicker to the ramp, Show gets to his feet, spins Orton around, and delivers a massive Chokeslam in the center of the ring! Show collapses into the cover! 1... 2... NO! Orton kicks out! The arena explodes!

Show and Kane are both in disbelief. Show, completely enraged, signals for the end. He clenches his fist, roaring as he calls for the KO Punch. He winds up, ready to take Orton's head off...

Orton ducks!

The punch whistles over his head. Show, off-balance, spins around...

RKO!

Orton hits it! But Show is too massive! He doesn't go down! He just stumbles back, dazed and confused, into the ropes. Orton can't believe it. He charges Show, but Show grabs him by the throat and shoves him backward. Orton hits the ropes and comes flying back... RKO! A second, jumping RKO!

This time, the giant falls. He crashes to the mat like a felled redwood. Orton, exhausted, drapes an arm over him. 1... 2... 3!

Winner: Randy Orton

Orton's music blares as he rolls to the apron, his body aching. He has outsmarted and outlasted the giant. On the ramp, Kane is seething, his plan to distract Orton having backfired. Orton locks eyes with him, giving him a slow, cold smile. The Viper has drawn first blood against The Authority tonight, adding another layer of fury to the main event.

(The ring is decorated for a "party," but it’s the most insincere, passive-aggressive party imaginable. A cheap-looking red carpet, which is already buckling, is laid out. Tacky red and black balloons (the "Bella" colors) are tied to the ring posts. In the corner sits a small, wobbly table draped with a gaudy purple cloth. The crowd boos the pathetic display.)

(The Bella Twins' music hits, and a deafening chorus of boos rains down. The Divas Champion, Nikki Bella, and her sister, Brie, emerge. They are dressed in matching, expensive, skin-tight red outfits, their faces masks of smug, untouchable arrogance. They walk with an exaggerated "Fearless" strut, completely ignoring the hatred. They step into the ring and Brie immediately claps her hands, admiring their handiwork.)

Brie: "Oh my gosh, Nikki, this party is so cute! That red carpet? Fearless!"

Nikki: (Taking a microphone, her voice dripping with condescension) "Of course! Only the best for the... 'new girl.' You know, it must be so hard coming up from... what's it called? N... X... T?" (She says the letters like she's spelling out a word for a toddler.) "That little... gym... in Florida? Awww. They must be so proud!"

(The crowd boos. Nikki’s smile just widens.)

Nikki: "But, as we all know, last week, a... new girl... made her debut. And, in what has to be the biggest, most embarrassing fluke in WWE history, she won the Divas Battle Royal." (Brie nods emphatically, "Total fluke!") "So... as the Queen of this Divas division... a title I have earned... a division I have built... I felt it was my duty, as a role model, to officially welcome our new, temporary, #1 Contender... so, Charlotte! Come on out, sweetie! This... this is all for you!"

(Charlotte's orchestral, serious music hits, a stark contrast to the scene. The #1 Contender emerges, wearing her elaborate, flowing robe. Her walk is regal, slow, and all business. She surveys the tacky decorations with a mixture of confusion and profound disdain. She knows this is a trap. The Bellas are mocking her on the microphone as she walks.)

Nikki: "Oh, look at her! She's so serious. Does she ever smile? I'd be smiling if I was getting this much attention. You're welcome, Charlotte! We're giving you the 'Bella rub'!"

Brie: "And that robe... ugh. It's so... 1980s. So desperate."

(Charlotte ignores them, steps into the ring, and stands in the center, her eyes locking on Nikki with a cold, analytical intensity. She does not smile.)

Nikki: "Welcome, welcome, welcome! Aww, look at you! You look... nervous. It's okay. The big lights are... a lot. Now, I know you walk around calling yourself 'genetically superior'..." (She and Brie share a fake, obnoxious laugh) "...and 'NXT Royalty'..." (More laughter) "Look, sweetie, we get it. You have a... famous last name. You've had everything handed to you your entire life, haven't you? Must be nice."

(Nikki circles her. The personal shots are landing, but Charlotte remains like stone.)

Nikki: "But up here, on my show, on Monday Night Raw, that doesn't matter. Your daddy can't help you here. Up here, you're not royalty. You're just... another blonde. But... since you think you're royalty, and you're so used to being handed things, we felt it was our duty... to give you a little 'Welcome to the Big Leagues' gift. Brie?"

Brie: (Beaming, like a child on Christmas) "Oh my gosh, yes! We got this just for you! It's perfect!"

(Brie beams and theatrically pulls the purple cloth off the table, revealing... a cheap, plastic, child's tiara from a party store. Half the 'gems' are missing, and a line of hot glue is visibly smeared on the side. The crowd boos at the pathetic prop.)

Nikki: "See? We got you a crown! For the 'NXT Princess'! Go ahead, 'Your Highness,' try it on!"

(Brie takes the tacky tiara and, in a deeply insulting move, tries to shove it onto Charlotte's head, like she's crowning a child. "Hold still! We just want to see how cute you look!")

(Before the plastic can even touch her, Charlotte's hand snaps up like a viper, snatching the tiara from Brie's hand. She holds it, looks at it. Her eyes are blazing.)

(Nikki's sickly-sweet smile instantly vanishes. The facade is gone. Her "Queen" persona is replaced by the mean girl.)

Nikki: (Her voice now cold and hard) "You see, that's your problem, sweetie. No respect. You think you can just walk in here... with your father's name... and demand respect. You think you're royalty? Well, you're not."

(Nikki steps forward, invading Charlotte's space, and shoves her Divas Championship into Charlotte's face, the metal pressing against her nose.)

Nikki: "THIS... this is the real crown. This is my kingdom. This is my division. I built it. I made it relevant. And in my kingdom, you're not a princess... you're not royalty... you're not even a contender. You're just... a rookie. A rookie who got lucky, once. And you're nothing compared to me."

(The arena is dead silent. Charlotte stares at the title, then at Nikki's enraged face. She slowly, calmly, lowers her gaze to the plastic tiara in her hand. She looks at it for a long, five-second count.)

(In one swift, contemptuous motion, Charlotte drops the tiara to the mat.)

(And then she crushes it under the heel of her boot. The crack of the plastic echoes through the silent arena. The crowd pops.)

(Charlotte grabs the microphone from Nikki's stunned hand.)

Charlotte: "I'm not here for your party, Nikki. And I'm not here for your plastic toys." (She kicks a broken piece of the tiara away with her boot.) "You're right about one thing. That... (she points to the Divas Championship) ...is the real crown. And I'm here to take it."

(Charlotte steps forward, invading Nikki's space, forcing the champion to take an involuntary step back. The power has shifted.)

Charlotte: "You talk about your kingdom? This... this is a kingdom of plastic and mirrors. You talk about standards? Your standard is a five-minute match and a plug for your reality show. My standard is a twenty-minute classic and a main event. We are not the same."

(The crowd "Ooohs." Nikki is turning red.)

Charlotte: "You talk about my father? You're damn right I have a famous last name. A name I honor in this ring, with my wrestling. You... you're just famous for who you date."

(The arena explodes. Brie screams "How dare you!" Nikki looks like she's been shot.)

Charlotte: "You call yourself a 'Queen,' but you hide behind your sister. You call yourself 'Fearless,' but I can see you right now... and you're terrified. You're terrified that your clock... is ticking. I'm not a rookie, Nikki. I'm a wrestler. And I'm your #1 Contender."

(Nikki loses it. Her entire "Queen" persona disintegrates into pure, unadulterated rage. Her face is crimson. She's shaking.)

Nikki: (Screaming, her voice cracking) "You... YOU BITCH! You think you can talk to me like that?! In my ring?! You're just like all of them! You're jealous! You're jealous of my life, you're jealous of my man, you're jealous of THIS!" (She shoves the title in her face.)

(Charlotte doesn't even blink.)

Nikki: "Brie! SHUT HER UP! GET HER! HURT HER!"

(Nikki shoves her sister forward. Brie lunges at Charlotte, and a referee slides into the ring, frantically calling for the bell.)

Brie Bella (w/ Nikki Bella) vs. Charlotte

(Nikki's music cuts. Charlotte's music cuts. The bell rings.)

Brie, fueled by her sister's rage, lets out a "Brie Mode!" shriek and charges at Charlotte. Charlotte, the superior athlete, doesn't even move; she just sidesteps, sending Brie flying past her and crashing chest-first into the turnbuckles.

Nikki, absolutely apoplectic from the promo, storms over to the commentary table. She yanks the headset off JBL.

Nikki: (Screaming into the mic) "Give me this! Can you believe the disrespect, Cole?! That's what I'm talking about! She's so... boring! All she does is 'wrestle'! Where's the personality? Where's the style? She's just... jealous!"

In the ring, Brie charges again, this time with a wild, sloppy clothesline. Charlotte ducks it, hooks a waist-lock from behind, and with a grunt, executes a beautiful amateur wrestling takedown, planting Brie flat on her back. Charlotte holds her there, toying with her, before Brie scrambles away in a panic.

JBL: "That's a wrestling takedown, Maggle! That's not 'boring,' that's dominant!"

Nikki: "It's ugly, JBL! No one wants to see that!"

Charlotte hits a hard shoulder block that sends Brie flying through the middle rope. Brie lands in a heap at Nikki's feet by the announce table. Nikki stands over her, furious.

Nikki: "Get up! What are you doing?! She's nothing! Use your head! Do what I taught you! Win! I don't care how!"

Brie, emboldened, slides back into the ring. The referee steps in front of Charlotte to create separation. Brie, seeing the opening, takes her sister's advice. She lunges forward and rakes her fingernails viciously across Charlotte's eyes. The crowd roars in disapproval. Charlotte stumbles back, blinded, clutching her face.

Brie immediately capitalizes, hitting her "Brie Mode" running knee, smashing it into Charlotte's face and sending her crashing into the turnbuckle. Brie, screaming, unloads a series of weak-looking kicks to Charlotte's midsection before grinding a forearm into her face. She pulls Charlotte out and locks in a grounding, side-ways chin lock, screaming at the top of her lungs, "This is our house! This is our division! You don't belong here!"

Nikki: (Standing up at the commentary table, triumphant) "SEE! SEE, COLE! That's a veteran! That's ring awareness! This 'genetically superior' girl is already gassing out! She's not ready for the Bellas! She's not ready for me! She can't hang!"

The taunt fires up Charlotte. In the chin lock, her eyes blazing, she looks past Brie and makes direct, murderous eye contact with Nikki. A switch has been flipped.

She begins to stand up, powering Brie off her feet. Brie is still clinging to her, her legs kicking, but Charlotte is standing straight. With a roar, Charlotte breaks the hold with a back elbow. Brie stumbles back, and Charlotte explodes. She kips up, landing on her feet, and lets out a "WOOOOO!" that the entire crowd echoes.

Brie, in a panic, charges. Charlotte meets her with a thunderous chop. The sound cracks through the arena. Brie stumbles back, clutching her chest, a look of pure shock on her face. Brie charges again, and Charlotte hits a second chop, even louder. Brie charges a third time, and Charlotte hits a third chop that drops Brie to her knees.

Nikki: (Panicked, screaming into the headset) "Brie! Get out of there! Get up!"

Brie, dazed, stumbles to her feet and charges wildly. Charlotte hits a massive big boot that sends Brie spinning a full 180 degrees. As Brie stumbles back around, Charlotte stalks her, waits for her to turn... SPEAR! She cuts Brie in half!

Nikki: (At the table, having a complete meltdown) "NO! NO! CHEAP SHOT! THAT WAS A CHEAP SHOT! GET UP, BRIE!"

Charlotte, on her hands and knees, slowly looks over at the screaming Nikki. A cold, predatory smile spreads across her face. She gets to her feet and points directly at Nikki. This is for you.

She stalks the fallen Brie. She doesn't just hook her head. She yanks Brie up by the hair, sets her up... NATURAL SELECTION. She plants her face-first in the center of the ring. She hooks the leg.

One... Two... Three.

Winner: Charlotte

Charlotte's music plays. She doesn't even celebrate. She just stands up, her eyes still locked on Nikki.

Nikki is apoplectic. She's beyond furious; she's been humiliated. She rips the headset off, throwing it at Michael Cole. "SHE'S NOTHING! SHE GOT LUCKY! SHE'S A NOBODY!"

Nikki grabs her Divas Championship. This is her power. She slides into the ring, running full-speed at Charlotte's back. Charlotte is just getting to her feet, her back to Nikki. The crowd screams a warning. Nikki raises the title high, aiming for the back of Charlotte's head, a swing that would end her.

Just as Nikki swings, Charlotte, hearing the crowd, ducks.

The title belt whistles inches over her head. Nikki, from her own wild momentum, stumbles past her. She spins around, her face a mask of rage, ready to swing again...

...only to find herself face-to-face with a smiling Charlotte.

But Charlotte isn't just standing. She's crouched in a three-point stance. A prowling stance. A spear stance.

The champion freezes.

All the color drains from Nikki's face. The arrogant "Queen" persona evaporates. This isn't a "Diva" she's facing. This is an athlete. A predator. She is in danger.

Charlotte, still in her stance, lets out a loud, echoing, mocking... "WOOOOO!" ...and takes one single, predatory step forward.

That's all it takes.

Nikki shrieks—a high-pitched, terrified, genuine shriek. She doesn't walk; she scrambles backward, falling over her own feet. She tumbles under the bottom rope, snatches her title belt from the floor, and backpedals up the ramp, holding the title in front of her like a shield.

Nikki: (Her voice cracking with fear and rage) "You'll never get this! This is my ring! MINE! You'll never take this from me!"

The segment ends with the camera zooming in on Charlotte in the ring, standing tall, an icy, confident smile on her face as she laughs at the retreating, terrified, and utterly exposed Divas Champion.

John Cena's music hits, and the Frank Erwin Center explodes in that familiar, deafening, divisive wall of sound—a chaotic mix of cheers and boos. The new United States Champion sprints to the ring, not with his usual celebratory energy, but with a renewed, intense focus. He slides into the ring, holds the U.S. Title high, and grabs a microphone, pacing as he soaks in the dueling "Let's Go, Cena! / Cena Sucks!" chants. He smiles, "That right there... that is the sound of Monday Night Raw. Some of you are happy to see me, and some of you... well, you're just happy to be here." The crowd boos and cheers. "But tonight, this isn't about me. This is about this." He holds the championship belt up high again, his face turning serious. "For nearly a year, this United States Championship was held by a man who told you it was a symbol of his superiority, a symbol of his dominance. Rusev used this as a weapon to mock this country and to mock everything we stand for. Last week, I stood in this very ring and I made a promise. I promised that this title would once again be what it was always meant to be: not a trophy for a foreign tyrant, but a symbol of excellence... and a symbol of opportunity." He paces the ring, his voice rising with passion. "I know... I know... there is a big, angry... wait, no... (he smirks) ...a big, angry, defeated Russian Super-Athlete who wants his rematch. Rusev! You want your rematch at Extreme Rules? You've got it! That is a fight I am looking forward to. But that... that is then. This... is now!" The crowd roars. "See, a champion proves his excellence by fighting. And a champion provides opportunity by defending! So I am not waiting until Extreme Rules. I am starting right now! I am standing in this ring, the champ, and the John Cena U.S. Open Challenge is officially... open!" He turns and stares directly at the entrance ramp. "This is a message to every single person in that locker room! Are you satisfied with just being on the show? Are you satisfied with your spot? Or are you hungry? Do you want to prove you belong in the main event? Do you want to make a name for yourself? My name is John Cena, this is the United States Championship! And if you want some... COME GET SOME!" Cena tosses the mic, his eyes blazing, ready for a fight. The arena buzzes, waiting to see who will answer. After a long, tense moment, Bad News Barrett's theme hits. The former Intercontinental Champion marches out, his face a mask of pure, seething anger. He's not carrying a podium; he's carrying a grudge. He storms the ring, grabs a microphone, and gets right in Cena's face. "Cena! Shut your mouth! You stand out here and you talk about 'opportunity'?" he snarls, mocking Cena's words. "You want to talk about opportunity? For weeks, all I've had is my property—my Intercontinental Championship—stolen from me! Stolen by a bunch of ladder-climbing delinquents! I am a five-time Intercontinental Champion! I am excellence! I'm not an afterthought. I'm not some 'new guy' trying to 'make a name.' I am the best champion of the last decade, and I am sick... and sick... of being overlooked. I'm not just here for a fight, Cena. I'm here to take what's mine. I'm here to take your title!" Barrett throws his mic down and shoves Cena. Cena shoves back. The referee, seeing the intensity, quickly calls for the bell.

John Cena vs. Bad News Barrett (U.S. Open Challenge)

The bell rings, and Barrett explodes from his corner. This isn't a wrestling match; it's a mugging. Barrett charges, ducking Cena's attempted lock-up and driving a series of brutal, hard knees into his midsection. He pummels Cena into the corner, raining down sledgehammer-like forearms to his head and back, forcing the referee to physically pull him away.

Cena stumbles out of the corner, dazed, and Barrett immediately flattens him with a thunderous big boot. The connection is flush, and Cena is sent spiraling under the bottom rope to the floor. Barrett, his face a mask of pure, seething anger, follows him, giving Cena no room to breathe. He grabs Cena by the head and smashes him back-first into the unforgiving steel barricade. He rolls Cena back in, hooks the leg for a cover—One... Two...—Cena powers out.

Barrett, already frustrated, gets to his feet and begins to systematically stomp on Cena—on his gut, his chest, his arms. He pulls Cena up and plants him with a snap suplex, floating over and locking in a grinding, aggressive side headlock, trying to squeeze the air out of the champion. The crowd rallies Cena, who fights his way back to a vertical base. He shoves Barrett off into the ropes, but Barrett rebounds with a massive shoulder block that puts Cena right back down. Barrett covers again for a one-count.

"This is my ring!" Barrett roars. He picks Cena up and delivers a high-arcing backbreaker, then holds on and drops him with a second backbreaker. He's in complete control. He whips Cena into the corner, but Cena explodes out with a desperate flying clothesline. Cena hits the ropes to follow up... but Barrett catches him with a picture-perfect spinebuster! He covers again—One... Two...—Cena kicks out.

Barrett, now visibly frustrated, pulls down his right elbow pad, a shark smelling blood. He's calling for the Bull Hammer. He stalks Cena, waiting for him to get to his knees. As Cena rises, Barrett swings for the knockout blow... but Cena ducks!

This is the opening. Cena hits the ropes and connects with a flying shoulder tackle. He hits the ropes again—another flying shoulder tackle. He hits the ropes, ducks a wild lariat from Barrett, and plants him with the proto-bomb. The blood rushes to Cena's face. He raises his hand, the crowd chanting "You can't see me!" He connects with the Five Knuckle Shuffle.

Cena gets to his feet, the crowd electric, and he scoops the 250-pound Barrett up for the Attitude Adjustment. He's got him up... but Barrett, in a veteran move, slides off his back and rakes his fingernails across Cena's eyes! Cena stumbles back, blinded, clutching his face. Barrett grabs him, spins him around, and plants him with the Winds of Change! The devastating spinning side-slam! Barrett hooks the leg! One... Two... CENA BARELY GETS THE SHOULDER UP!

Barrett is in disbelief. He pounds the mat, screaming at the referee that it was three. He doesn't wait. He pulls Cena up by the hair, hoists him onto his shoulders, and delivers the Wasteland! He plants Cena in the center of the ring! This has to be it! He covers—One... Two... NO! Cena kicks out again! The arena is going insane.

"How?! How did he kick out?!" Barrett screams, his rage now turning to desperation. He signals for the Bull Hammer again. He's going to end this. He waits as Cena, using the ropes, pulls himself to his feet. Barrett charges... but Cena ducks and scoops him up for another Attitude Adjustment! Barrett, fighting with everything he has, pummels Cena's head with elbows, forcing Cena to drop him. Barrett, desperate, immediately hooks Cena again... he's going for a second Wasteland!

He gets Cena up onto his shoulders... but this time, Cena wiggles free, landing on his feet behind him! Cena drop-toe-holds Barrett to the mat! STF! He locks it in! He has it cinched in deep, dead center in the ring! Barrett, with nowhere to go, screams in agony, his face turning purple. Cena wrenches back, screaming "TAP!" Barrett's hand hovers over the mat... he's going to tap... but with one final, desperate surge of power, he begins to crawl, dragging Cena's weight with him. He claws at the mat, inch by agonizing inch, and just gets his fingertips on the bottom rope, forcing the break.

Cena holds the submission until the referee's count of four. Both men are exhausted. They slowly pull themselves up using opposite ropes, meeting in the center of the ring. They begin trading punches, the crowd chanting "BOO!" and "YAY!" with every shot. Cena, Cena, Barrett, Barrett... Barrett ducks a punch from Cena and delivers a hard kick to the gut, doubling Cena over.

Barrett sees his final chance. He rips the elbow pad completely off. He roars, signaling for the Bull Hammer one more time. Cena stumbles to his feet, completely dazed. Barrett swings... BULL HAMMER!

CENA DUCKS!

Barrett spins around from the momentum of his own missed blow... right into Cena, who scoops him up onto his shoulders! ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT! He plants Barrett in the center of the ring! Cena collapses into the cover, hooking the leg!

One... Two... Three!

Winner and STILL United States Champion: John Cena

John Cena's music, "My Time is Now," blares through the arena, but the champion doesn't have the energy to celebrate. He's on one knee, his chest heaving, his face a mask of pained relief as the referee raises his arm. He just survived a twelve-minute war with Bad News Barrett. He clutches the United States Championship to his chest. The crowd is on its feet, a mix of cheers for his resilience and boos, when the music suddenly scratches to a halt.

An abrupt, deafening boom silences the arena. "Roar of the Lion" hits.

Rusev's theme.

Cena, still exhausted, immediately snaps to attention. He pulls himself up using the ropes, his eyes darting to the entrance ramp, bracing himself for the 300-pound behemoth he defeated at WrestleMania.

But only Lana emerges.

She walks onto the stage, her face a mask of cold, calculated, icy calm. She's in a severe black business suit, her hair pulled back. She doesn't say a word. She just points a single, manicured finger at the Titantron.

Suddenly, a replay of their WrestleMania clash plays on the Titantron—specifically, the end of the match. The crowd sees Rusev, his face a mask of confusion, arguing with Lana on the apron... sees Cena capitalize... sees the Attitude Adjustment... sees the 1... 2... 3. They are replaying the most humiliating moment of Rusev's career: his first-ever defeat.

Cena, catching his breath, watches the replay, a grim smile on his face. He turns back to Lana on the ramp...

He never sees it coming.

From the opposite side of the ring, a blur of motion vaults the barricade. It's Rusev. He's in street clothes, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated, psychopathic rage. Cena hears the crowd's unified "NO!" and turns, his eyes wide...

...right into a decapitating superkick. The sound of Rusev's boot cracking against Cena's jaw echoes through the arena. Cena doesn't just fall; he collapses, out cold, his body folding like an accordion. The U.S. Title clatters to the mat.

The boos are deafening, a wall of pure, unadulterated hatred. Rusev, screaming in primal, incoherent rage, mounts the unconscious champion and begins to mutilate him. He's not punching; he's dropping sledgehammers, screaming "YOU... TOOK... EVERYTHING!" He viciously stomps on Cena's chest, his gut, his head, as the referee frantically tries to intervene, calling for the bell to disqualify Rusev, but it doesn't matter.

Lana, her purpose served, now walks slowly, deliberately down the ramp. She never breaks her cold, icy stare from the carnage in the ring. Rusev pulls Cena's limp body up by the hair and launches him clear across the ring with a monstrous fallaway slam. Rusev pounds his chest, his veins bulging, his face beet-red.

Lana arrives at ringside, calmly slides under the bottom rope, and, in a low, venomous, clear voice that cuts through the boos, gives the order:

Lana: "Rusev... CRUSH."

It's a command. Rusev, on cue, goes outside. He grabs the top half of the heavy steel steps and shoves the entire 300-pound structure into the ring with a deafening crash. The referee, terrified, pleads with him, "Rusev, no! He's had enough! Stop!"

Rusev grabs the referee by his striped shirt... and hurls him over the top rope to the floor.

Rusev turns his attention back to Cena. He grabs Cena's limp body. He holds him in the air... and slams him spine-first onto the flat, unforgiving steel. The thud is sickening. Cena's body arches in pure, unconscious agony.

But Rusev isn't done. He sees the U.S. Title—the reason for this. The symbol of his humiliation. He grabs it. He looks at the "United States Champion" engraving with pure disgust. He raises it high... and smashes it across Cena's back, right between the shoulder blades. A second time. A third time. The gold plating of the title is now just a weapon.

He throws the title down. Cena is a broken heap... but Rusev is not finished. This isn't enough. He wants to humiliate him. He wants to break him.

With a terrifying, cold precision, Rusev grabs Cena's limp body... and turns him over on the steel steps. He hooks Cena's arms. The crowd lets out a horrified gasp as they realize what he's doing. Rusev roars, sinks his weight back, and locks in THE ACCOLADE.

He's not trying to make him tap. Cena is already unconscious. This is a torture device. He is wrenching back on Cena's neck and chin, his massive weight driving Cena's spine and ribs into the unyielding edge of the steel steps. It's a horrifying, sickening image. Rusev is screaming, his face contorted, pulling back with all his might, trying to snap the champion in half. He holds the hold for ten, fifteen, twenty seconds, a display of pure, animalistic dominance, before finally releasing the hold, shoving Cena's lifeless body off the steps onto the mat.

Now Lana calmly picks up the microphone. She stands over Cena, who is a broken, motionless wreck. She doesn't yell. Her voice is cold, clear, and dripping with contempt.

Lana: "John Cena. You... are a typical American. You champion the 'indomitable human spirit.' You think because you get knocked down, you are a hero when you get back up." (She scoffs) "You find glory in failure. You find honor in survival. This is why your country is weak. You celebrate surviving... we... celebrate conquering. At WrestleMania, you survived. But what happens, John Cena... when you can't get back up?"

Rusev, his face contorted, his veins bulging, snatches the mic from Lana. He gets in Cena's face, who is barely stirring, and screams, his voice hoarse with rage, spraying spittle.

Rusev: "CENA! At WrestleMania... you did not beat me! You survived me! You... and your America... you got lucky! At Extreme Rules... there will be no luck! There will be no surviving! I do not want to pin you! I do not want to make you submit! I want to END YOU!"

The crowd erupts in a mix of "OH!" and "NO!"

Rusev: "Our match... at Extreme Rules... will be a... a... LAST MAN STANDING MATCH!"

Rusev throws the mic down, his entire body trembling with rage.

Rusev: "And John Cena... you... will... never... get up!"

As Rusev roars, the "click" is heard. The massive Russian Federation flag unfurls from the rafters, blocking out the Titantron, bathing the arena in a sea of red, white, and blue. Rusev grabs the U.S. Title, not in triumph, but in disgust, and throws it onto Cena's broken body. He places one massive boot onto Cena's chest, raises his arms, and lets out a primal, guttural roar of pure, dominant vengeance. The show fades to black on the horrifying image.

(The show returns, and the ring is dressed for "MizTV." It's the full, obnoxious setup: a cheap red carpet, tacky velvet ropes at the corners, and two black "director's chairs" bearing "The Miz" logo. The "MizTV" Titron on the apron is already lit.)

("I Came to Play" hits the PA, but the reaction is a deafening, unified chorus of boos. The Miz storms out, not in his "Mizdow" gear, but in a pristine, $5,000 suit. His hair, usually immaculate, is a mess. His tie is loose. His face is a mask of pure, unadulterated, apoplectic fury. He doesn't do his "I'm Awesome" pose; he power-walks down the ramp, his eyes wide and paranoid, and slides into the ring. He snatches the microphone, his hand visibly shaking.)

Miz: "SHUT! UP!"

(The crowd's boos just get louder. He tries to speak, but he's immediately drowned out by a deafening "MIZ-DOW'S AWESOME!" chant. Miz's face turns a shade of crimson. He paces the ring like a caged animal.)

Miz: "SHUT YOUR MOUTHS! He's not awesome! I'M awesome! I AM THE AWESOME ONE! ME!" (He points to himself, his voice cracking.) "You know... this 'MizTV' segment... this isn't an interview. This is a... a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!"

(Another "MIZ-DOW'S AWESOME!" chant starts. Miz screams over it.)

Miz: "For a year... for ONE. FULL. YEAR... I GAVE THAT MAN A JOB! I took a man who was a professional punchline... a man who was dressing up in costumes every single week, humiliating himself... a certified nobody... and I gave him the privilege... the honor... of standing next to me. I gave him relevance! I made him a star! I GAVE HIM THE 'MIZDOW' NAME!"

(He's breathing heavily, working himself into a shoot-like rage.)

Miz: "And how... HOW... does this ungrateful, good-for-nothing, wannabe... assistant... repay me? He BETRAYS me! At WrestleMania! My moment! My Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royal! My name on that trophy! He... he... eliminates me. His mentor! His boss! The man who made him!"

(He stops, his rage turning into something more personal. He looks genuinely hurt.)

Miz: "And then... then... he has the AUDACITY... the unmitigated disrespect... to stand in my ring... and call... ME... 'Mike'?"

(He says the name "Mike" as if it's poison. The crowd, sensing this is the real wound, immediately starts chanting "MIKE! MIKE! MIKE! MIKE!")

Miz: "NO! YOU DON'T GET TO CALL ME MIKE! HE DOESN'T GET TO CALL ME MIKE! There is one person on this planet who gets to call me Mike, and that is my mother! YOU... (he points to the crowd) ...YOU CALL ME 'MIZ'! I AM THE MIZ! I AM AN A-LISTER! I AM THE MOST MUST-SEE WWE SUPERSTAR OF ALL TIME! 'MIKE' IS A NOBODY! 'MIKE' IS A... A... A LOSER FROM CLEVELAND! I AM THE MIZ!"

(He's completely unhinged now, his brand identity shattered by one simple name. He takes a breath, trying to regain his composure.)

Miz: "But you know what? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what you chant. Because 'Mizdow' is gone."

(A mix of boos and "No!" chants. Miz's face twists into a cruel, smug grin.)

Miz: "OH, YES! That's right! You all saw it! Last week, right here on Monday Night Raw, I did what I should have done a year ago... I fired him! I fired him from my brand, I fired him from my life! He is over! He is done! So this... this 'MizTV' segment... this is a eulogy. This is the funeral for the failed experiment called 'Damien Mizdow.' And I am here to gloat."

(He sits in one of the director's chairs, crossing his legs, the picture of arrogance.)

Miz: "Where is he going to go? Huh? What's he going to do? Go back to dressing up like... like a lumberjack? Like an astronaut? Like Abraham Lincoln? NO! Because without me... without my name... without my brand... he is nothing. He is a nobody. He... is 'Mike.' He'll be lucky if he can get a job parking cars in Hollywood. My cars."

(He stands up, his confidence fully restored, feeding on his own ego.)

Miz: "I, on the other hand... I am an A-Lister. I am a movie star! I main-evented WrestleMania! I am bigger than ever! My agent is blowing up my phone! 'The Marine 5'! 'The Marine 6'! 'The Marine 7'! I AM A STAR! I AM THE MONEYMAKER! And I did it by finally cutting the dead weight. Damien Sandow is gone... and I... am..."

(He raises the mic for his catchphrase, but before he can say "awesome," the arena lights cut out. Miz freezes. "What? What's going on? That's not part of the show! I didn't approve this!")

(Suddenly, the music scratches to a halt, ending in a high-pitched whine.)

(A single, long, resonant chord... "HAAAAAAAA-LLE-LU-JAH!" Handel's Messiah Chorus explodes over the PA.)

(The arena is confused for a half-second, and then they erupt. This is a pop of pure, cathartic joy. Miz's face, which was just the picture of arrogance, melts into pure, abject terror. He knows that music. He's backing away in his own ring.)

Miz: "No... no, no, no. He can't be here. He's fired. I fired him! Get him out of here!"

(Out from the back, bathed in a single, heavenly white spotlight, walks DAMIEN SANDOW. He is not in stunt gear. He is not in "Mizdow" sunglasses. He is wearing the full, immaculate, royal blue "Intellectual Savior of the Masses" robe, trimmed with gold. His hair is perfectly coiffed. His beard is trimmed. He walks slowly, his arms held wide in a gesture of benediction, a look of serene, intellectual superiority on his face. He is a prophet, returned.)

Miz: (His voice a high-pitched shriek) "What is this?! WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?! That's not your gimmick! Put the sunglasses on! You can't... YOU'RE FIRED! I FIRED YOU! I FIRED YOU LAST WEEK! YOU'RE TRESPASSING! GET HIM OUT OF HERE! SECURITY!"

(Sandow ignores him, his walk slow and deliberate. The crowd is chanting "SAN-DOW! SAN-DOW! SAN-DOW!" He reaches the ring, calmly ascends the steps, and stands on the red carpet, looking at the sputtering, terrified Miz with a mixture of pity and profound disdain. Sandow calmly holds a single hand up. The crowd, in a wave, falls silent. He has them in the palm of his hand.)

(Sandow calmly takes the microphone from Miz's trembling hand. Miz lets him. Sandow takes a deep, cleansing breath. His voice is not the squeak of Mizdow. It is the cold, articulate, baritone of the Intellectual Savior.)

Sandow: "Firstly... my name... is Damien Sandow."

(The crowd explodes. This is the confirmation. Miz is shaking his head, "No, no, no...")

Sandow: "Secondly..." (He pauses, looks Miz up and down, from his messy hair to his expensive shoes, and lets a small, pitying smile play on his lips) "...you're welcome."

Miz: (He finds his voice) "YOU'RE WELCOME?! YOU'RE WELCOME?! FOR WHAT?! I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING! I GAVE YOU A CAREER! YOU WERE A JOKE! YOU WERE DRESSING UP LIKE A RAPPER! LIKE... A BASKETBALL PLAYER! LIKE ABRAHAM LINCOLN! YOU WERE NOTHING!"

(Miz gets right in his face. Sandow does not flinch.)

Miz: "I AM AN A-LISTER! I AM A MOVIE STAR! I AM THE MONEYMAKER! I MAIN-EVENTED WRESTLEMANIA! YOU... ARE... NOTHING!"

(Sandow waits for the tirade to finish. He is perfectly, terrifyingly calm. He raises his microphone.)

Sandow: "An A-Lister? A... 'movie star'?" (He lets out a small, condescending chuckle.) "My dear 'Miz'... you are a brand. And a very, very poorly managed one at that."

Sandow: "You see, for the past year, I was not your 'assistant.' I was not your 'stunt double.' I was a... sociologist." (The crowd "Ooohs," sensing where this is going.) "I was conducting a deep, immersive, year-long case study... in acute, pathological narcissism. And you... Mike..."

(Miz flinches as if he's been slapped. The name, used with such surgical precision, has completely disarmed him.)

Sandow: "...you were the perfect, F-grade subject. For 365 days, I studied you. I studied your every pre-rehearsed, juvenile catchphrase. I studied your painfully telegraphed, vaudevillian mannerisms. I studied your... brand. And do you know what I discovered?"

(Miz is speechless, backing away.)

Sandow: "I discovered... that there was nothing there. You're not a star; you're a vacuum. You're not an A-Lister; you're an abyss. You are... empty."

(Sandow takes a step forward. Miz takes a step back.)

Sandow: "So I continued my experiment. I posited a hypothesis: 'What if I... a man of superior intellect, superior talent, and... let's be honest... superior genetics... were to mimic this empty shell?' And the results... well, the results were astounding."

Sandow: "I perfected it. I became a better 'Miz' than you could ever dream of being. And I did it... (he leans in, his voice a whisper) ...without speaking... a single... solitary... word."

(The crowd is molten. This is the truth.)

Sandow: "You want to know how I know? Because the crowd... they don't boo me when I do your tired routine. They boo you. They chant my name during your matches. You didn't make me, Miz. I exposed you. I held a mirror up to you, and the entire world... finally saw the truth."

Miz: (He's cornered, babbling, his rage and fear mixing) "SHUT UP! I AM THE MIZ! I AM THE MOST MUST-SEE... I... I... I'M THE CHICK MAGNET! I'M..."

Sandow: (His voice booms) "You are... a hollow, vapid, reality-TV shell! You are a construct of catchphrases with no substance! You call me the joke? You, sir, are the punchline! You are a fraud!"

(Sandow stands tall, his arms spread wide, his voice resonating with righteous fury.)

Sandow: "And I... I am the Intellectual Savior of the Masses... and I am here... to liberate these good people... from you!"

(This is the breaking point. Miz screams—a high-pitched, primal shriek—and swings the microphone like a baseball bat, aiming for Sandow's head.)

(Sandow ducks effortlessly. He drops the mic and tackles Miz to the red carpet.)

(Sandow is on top, and he's not the "Intellectual"; he's a man unleashed. He rains down a flurry of stiff, real lefts and rights. This is a year of pent-up rage. The crowd is counting every punch. He stands up... and in a single, symbolic, cathartic motion, he rips the blue robe off. Underneath, he's in his old-school pink trunks. The "Intellectual Savior" is back. The crowd explodes.)

(Miz, bleeding from the mouth, scrambles away. He tries to escape through the velvet ropes... but Sandow grabs him by the hair and hurls him, bodily, through the "MizTV" Titantron. The screen shatters, sparks fly, and Miz collapses in a heap of broken electronics. The crowd is unglued.)

(Sandow isn't done. He grabs one of the heavy, wooden "director's chairs." Miz stumbles to his feet, dazed... Sandow smashes the chair over his back, and it explodes into a dozen splinters. Miz collapses again.)

(Sandow, his eyes wide with a righteous fury, stalks his prey. He drags Miz's limp body to his feet. He hooks his arms. The crowd knows what's coming. They're screaming for it.)

SKULL... CRUSHING... FINALE! (He plants Miz face-first onto the ruined red carpet. He stole his move. He stole his life. He proved his point.)

(Sandow, breathing heavily, his rage receding, calmly picks up the microphone. He looks down at the broken body of The Miz. He straightens his (non-existent) robe. He is the Intellectual Savior again.)

Sandow: "My experiment is complete. Conclusion: You are... nothing."

(He pauses, letting the words hang in the air.)

Sandow: "...You're welcome."

(He drops the mic on Miz's chest. "Hallelujah" blares over the PA. The crowd is giving him a deafening standing ovation as he walks away, his liberation complete, leaving the broken "brand" of The Miz in his wake.)

Roman Reigns's music hits, and the arena explodes in a chaotic mix of cheers and boos. He makes his signature entrance through the packed crowd in Austin, his face a mask of pure, cold intensity. He's not smiling, he's not interacting. He's here for a fight. He hurdles the barricade, slides into the ring, and lets out a primal roar.

Seth Rollins's music hits. The WWE World Heavyweight Champion emerges, but his usual arrogance is gone, replaced by a visible, paranoid terror. He is completely alone; J&J Security are nowhere to be seen. He clutches his title like a life raft, his eyes darting around the arena, his face pale. He knows Kane and Big Show are banned. He gets in the ring, holding his title up, more out of habit than confidence.

"NO CHANCE IN HELL!"

The arena explodes as Mr. McMahon's music hits. The Chairman of the Board power-walks out onto the stage, and he is wearing a black-and-white striped referee's shirt over his suit. Rollins's face melts from fear into pure, abject horror. This is a nightmare. Vince struts down the ramp, a predatory, shark-like grin on his face, and slides into the ring. He gets in Rollins's face, rips the WWE Championship from the champion's hands, and hands the belt to a timekeeper, then glares at Rollins and shoves him hard backward. Rollins stumbles, incensed, but terrified. Vince, the Special Guest Referee, aggressively calls for the bell.

Main Event - Special Guest Referee: Mr. McMahon

(Non-Title Match) Roman Reigns vs. Seth Rollins (WWE World Heavyweight Champion)

The bell rings. The 15,000-plus in attendance are on their feet. Rollins, his eyes wide with paranoia, immediately slides between the ropes to the floor. He's not trying to escape; he's just trying to create distance, watching both Vince and Reigns like a cornered animal. Vince, with an exaggerated "what's the problem?" shrug, barks, "Get in here and wrestle!"

Rollins reluctantly slides in, and Reigns charges. Rollins, with his speed, dodges and lands a quick kick to Reigns's gut. He tries to get a flurry of offense, hitting a series of stiff forearms, but Reigns shoves him, sending him flying backward into the corner. The power difference is immediate. Reigns charges in with a massive clothesline. He pulls Rollins out, whips him, and flattens him with a shoulder tackle, then another. Rollins scrambles to his feet and tries to "go low," dropkicking Reigns's knee, but Reigns just eats it. Rollins hits the ropes, but Reigns catches him in mid-air and plants him with a massive, high-impact Samoan Drop. Reigns covers, looking at Vince.

The entire arena holds its breath. What will Vince do? Vince slides over, his form perfect, and drops to the mat. "ONE!... TWO!" It's a perfectly normal, standard count. Rollins kicks out with authority.

Rollins sits up, his face a mask of pure confusion. He was expecting a fast count. Reigns is also confused, looking at Vince, who just shrugs. "He kicked out." Rollins, realizing the game, slides out of the ring again. Vince, incensed, starts a LOUD, theatrical 10-count, his arm swinging wildly. "ONE! TWO! THREE!" Rollins, realizing Vince would count him out, slides back in at eight.

Reigns is on him, beginning to maul the champion. He backs Rollins into the corner and delivers ten of the most clubbing, brutal clotheslines, one after another. He pulls Rollins out of the corner, whips him across the ring, and, as Rollins rebounds, hoists him into the air for a devastating tilt-a-whirl powerslam. He covers again. "ONE!... TWO!" Another crisp, normal count. Rollins kicks out.

The psychology is now set: Rollins realizes Vince isn't giving the match to Reigns... which means, to his horror, Vince expects him to fight Reigns fairly. This is somehow worse.

Reigns, all business, locks in a grinding side headlock, trying to squeeze the air from the champion. Rollins, his face turning red, fights to his feet and breaks the hold with a jawbreaker. He hits the ropes, and as Reigns charges, Rollins ducks and pulls the top rope down, sending Reigns tumbling over the top rope to the floor. Reigns lands on his feet, and Rollins, seeing his opening, hits the ropes and flies through with a spectacular suicide dive...

...only for Reigns to catch him in mid-air! Reigns is holding Rollins, looking to drive him into the barricade, but Rollins, in a desperate, brilliant counter, slips off and shoves Reigns, sending Roman shoulder-first into the steel ring post. Reigns howls in pain, clutching his arm.

Rollins, seeing a target, becomes a shark. He slides Reigns back in and begins a methodical assault. He stomps viciously on Reigns's injured shoulder, then hits a low dropkick to his knee, then another, trying to ground the powerhouse. He drops a knee onto the bad shoulder, then locks in a keylock, wrenching the arm, trying to tear the rotator cuff. Vince gets down, his face inches from theirs, "ASK HIM! ASK HIM!"

Reigns, running on pure power, gets to his feet, lifting Rollins while still in the hold, and slams him into the corner. But Rollins, relentless, charges and hits a picture-perfect enzuigiri that sends Reigns staggering. Rollins follows up, hitting the ropes and connecting with a running forearm, then a Slingblade. Now it's Rollins's turn. He hooks the leg, looking up at Vince with pleading eyes. "Count it!"

Vince, with a look of pure, cold indifference, drops down. "ONE!... TWO!" Reigns kicks out with force.

Rollins is beside himself. Not only is Vince not helping him, he's not screwing him either. He's forcing him to have a real, grueling match. Rollins ascends to the top rope, hitting a frog splash-style Blockbuster. He covers again! "ONE!... TWO!" Reigns kicks out again!

The match becomes a fantastic, back-and-forth main event. Vince McMahon, for the most part, is a surprisingly competent (if ridiculously over-the-top and egomaniacal) referee. His counts are loud, his arm-drops are dramatic, but they are even.

Rollins, getting frustrated, hits a running dropkick to a seated Reigns. He goes for another, but Reigns explodes out of the corner with a massive clothesline that turns Rollins inside out. Reigns hits another. He hits a leaping clothesline. He waits for Rollins to get up, signals... SUPERMAN PUNCH! No, Rollins ducks and hits a reverse STO, sending Reigns face-first into the middle turnbuckle! Rollins follows up with a springboard knee strike that connects flush to the side of Reigns's head! Cover! "ONE!... TWO!" Reigns kicks out!

The crowd is on its feet, sensing the incredible, high-stakes drama. Rollins, now in a panic, rolls to the outside and tries to pull a chair from under the ring.

"HEY!" Vince roars, his authority kicking in. He goes to the ropes and points at Rollins. "You use that, you're disqualified! I'm not letting it end like that! Get your worthless hide in here! NOW!"

Rollins, furious, his one "easy out" now gone, throws the chair down, his plan foiled by Vince's "impartiality." He slides back in... and Reigns meets him with a flurry of right hands, backing him into the corner. Reigns whips Rollins across the ring, Rollins reverses, Reigns rebounds... SUPERMAN PUNCH! He connects! Reigns connects with the Superman Punch! Reigns crawls for the cover... One... Two... Rollins gets his foot on the bottom rope!

Reigns can't believe it. He pulls himself into the corner, his eyes wide. He roars, signaling for the Spear. He pounds the mat. He leaps... but Rollins ducks under, grabs Reigns as he lands, kicks him hard in the gut, and delivers the BUCKLE BOMB! Reigns's spine crashes into the turnbuckles! Reigns staggers out, dazed... right into a second, massive SUPERKICK from Rollins! Reigns collapses!

This is it! This is Rollins's best shot! He didn't cheat! He hit his combination! Rollins scrambles for the cover, hooking the leg! "VINCE! COUNT IT! COUNT IT!" Rollins screams.

Vince slides in, his face a mask of pure professionalism. He drops. "ONE!........." (a long, dramatic pause) ".........TWO!........." (Vince looks, his hand high) "........." Reigns explodes out at 2.9! The arena comes unglued!

Rollins cannot believe it. He thought he had him. He looks at Vince, wanting to blame him, but the count was fair. It was just slow enough to be dramatic. The realization hits Rollins like a ton of bricks: he can't beat Reigns. Not clean.

Rollins is now desperate. He ascends to the top rope, signaling for the Phoenix Splash. This is his last resort. He leaps... But Reigns rolls out of the way! Rollins crashes and burns on the canvas, clutching his ribs!

Reigns is up first. He's in the corner. He's roaring. He pounds the mat. Rollins, in a blind panic, stumbles to his feet. He sees Reigns charging...

...so Rollins, in a brilliant, cowardly, veteran move, grabs Mr. McMahon and pulls him in front of his body as a human shield!

Reigns slams on the brakes, stopping inches from plowing into the 70-year-old Chairman. Vince McMahon, his eyes blazing, shoves Rollins away from him. "DON'T YOU EVER...!"

But the damage is done. The distraction is complete. As Vince is shoving him, Rollins spins, and delivers a blatant, desperate LOW BLOW to Reigns!

Vince, having been shielded, didn't see it. Reigns collapses to his knees, his hands on his groin. Rollins, with a sick smile, shoves Vince, who is still yelling at him. "He's hurt! Count the pin!"

"What are you...?" Vince turns... and sees Reigns on his knees. Rollins hits the ropes... CURB STOMP! He connects! He just stomped Reigns's head into the mat!

"COUNT IT!" Rollins screams, falling on top of Reigns.

Vince, his face full of confusion but his duty as a ref (as he sees it) paramount, drops to make the count. This is it. Rollins has outsmarted everyone. "ONE!... TWO!..."

...Reigns's shoulder shoots off the mat! HE KICKED OUT OF THE CURB STOMP!

The arena is molten. Rollins's soul leaves his body. He is in abject terror. He used a human shield, a low blow, and his finisher, and it still wasn't enough.

Rollins, now completely unhinged, rolls out of the ring and grabs the WWE Title belt. He doesn't care about the disqualification. He's going to end Reigns, Vince, or both. He slides into the ring, raising the belt. Vince finally sees him. "SETH, NO! I'LL DISQUALIFY YOU! I'M WARNING YOU!"

Rollins is screaming, "I DON'T CARE!" He's in a standoff with Vince.

"You're going to do it my way!" Vince roars, and he grabs the belt, trying to wrench it from Rollins's hand. It's a tug-of-war. "THIS IS MY COMPANY!" Vince yells.

As Rollins pulls back, he rips the belt free from Vince's grasp... but the momentum spins him around...

...right into a devastating SPEAR!

Reigns, running on pure adrenaline, has cut the champion in half! Rollins is out. The belt is on the mat. Reigns collapses into the cover.

Vince McMahon, his face a mask of grim satisfaction, drops to the mat. This is the clean finish he wanted. He raises his hand. "ONE!" He slams the mat with authority. "TWO!" He raises his hand high, ready to bring it down for the three that will give Reigns the victory... "THR-"

The arena is plunged into total, absolute darkness. The three-count is never completed. The bell never rings. The crowd lets out a unified, confused gasp. The entire building is in pitch-black silence for three, four, five seconds...

When the lights flicker back on... Kane and The Big Show are in the ring. They are standing over the fallen body of Roman Reigns. They were hiding under the canvas.

Vince McMahon is livid. He gets to his feet, his face the color of a beet. He gets nose-to-nose with The Big Show. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! I BANNED YOU! I BANNED YOU! I'M THE CHAIRMAN! YOU... ARE... FIRED!" He turns to Kane. "AND YOU! YOU'RE FIRED!" Vince, his back to the giants, turns to scream at a cowering, confused Rollins. "AND YOU! You think you can defy ME?! In MY ring?! I AM THE CHAI-"

...Silence. Kane and Big Show don't leave. They look at each other. They look at Rollins. A cold, terrifying understanding passes between them. Vince senses the silence and turns around. "I SAID... YOU'RE... FI-"

...K... O... PUNCH. The Big Show drills Vince McMahon. The 70-year-old Chairman collapses in a heap. The entire arena goes dead silent. This is not part of the show. This is unthinkable.

Kane and Big Show begin to stomp Vince McMahon with a terrifying, systematic, cold-blooded precision. Rollins, who looked confused for a split second, suddenly has a demonic, euphoric smile on his face. This was the plan.

"I HEAR VOICES..." The arena erupts. Randy Orton's music hits! He sprints down the ramp, sliding in like a house of fire! He turns... right into a Chokeslam from Kane! He stumbles to his feet... right into a KO PUNCH from The Big Show! Orton is out cold.

"Pick him up!" Rollins screams. Kane and Big Show grab the unconscious Randy Orton. Rollins lines him up... CURB STOMP. Orton is gone. "The other one!" Rollins demands. Kane and Show drag the limp body of Roman Reigns and hold him up. Rollins backs up... CURB STOMP. Reigns is gone.

The ring is littered with bodies. Only Vince remains. "GET HIM UP!" Rollins shrieks, his voice hoarse. "GET THE OLD MAN UP!" Kane and Big Show, their faces monstrous, lift the limp, lifeless body of Vince McMahon. They hold him up, presenting him to Rollins like a sacrifice. Rollins backs up. He looks at the man who owns the company. He runs... CURB. STOMP.

He just Curb Stomped the owner of the company. The Chairman of the Board. Vince McMahon. The arena is in a state of shock. There are no boos, just silence and the sound of thousands of horrified gasps. Rollins, Kane, and Big Show stand over the bodies, triumphant.

"King of Kings"... The music hits. The crowd, in a state of utter confusion, looks at the ramp. Triple H appears. He's not on crutches. He's in a pristine black suit, his face a mask of cold, predatory triumph. And alongside him... is Stephanie McMahon. She has a cold, vicious, reptilian smile on her face. The power-mad look of a queen who has just seized the throne. Stephanie and Triple H enter the ring. Stephanie's eyes are locked on her father. She kicks his foot out of her way as she steps over his unconscious body. She doesn't even look down. Triple H raises Rollins's hand. Stephanie takes the WWE Championship (which the timekeeper had), kisses it, and hands it to her champion. The entire, unified Authority—Triple H, Stephanie, Rollins, Kane, and Big Show—stand tall. They didn't just defy the boss... they overthrew the king.

Stephanie McMahon calmly takes a microphone. She leans down, her face inches from her father's. Stephanie: "Checkmate."

Raw goes off the air with the single, horrifying image of The Authority standing over the destroyed bodies of Roman Reigns, Randy Orton, and Vince McMahon himself.

Chicago, IL | AllState Arena
April 26th, 2015

*CONFIRMED CARD

WWE WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
TRIPLE THREAT STRETCHER MATCH
Seth Rollins vs. Roman Reigns vs. Randy Orton

DIVAS CHAMPIONSHIP
Nikki Bella (c) vs. Charlotte Flair

UNITED STATES CHAMPIONSHIP
Last Man Standing
John Cena (c) vs. Rusev

WrestleWizard · Friday at 7:45 PM

NXT Recap: April 8, 2015 - Full Sail University, Winter Park, FL

Opening Segment: General Manager William Regal's Major Announcements

NXT General Manager William Regal kicked off the show addressing two critical situations. First, he congratulated The Lucha Dragons (Kalisto & Sin Cara) on their promotion to Monday Night Raw, but announced their departure created a vacancy in the ongoing Tag Team Championship Tournament. Regal revealed that Angelo Dawkins and Sawyer Fulton would replace them as opponents for The Vaudevillains later in the evening.

Shifting to more serious business, Regal addressed the crowded NXT Championship picture. Sami Zayn had invoked his rematch clause after losing the title, Rhyno had been demanding an opportunity based on his dominant performances, and Hideo Itami had just earned consideration following his impressive 2-out-of-3 Falls victory the previous week. To settle the matter definitively, Regal announced a main event triple threat match between all three contenders, with the winner earning the right to challenge Kevin Owens for the NXT Championship at the upcoming live special event, NXT New Dawn.

Match 1: Tag Team Tournament Quarterfinal - The Vaudevillains vs. Angelo Dawkins & Sawyer Fulton

The replacement team of Dawkins and Fulton entered the tournament hoping to use their significant size and power advantage against the old-school styled Vaudevillains (Aiden English & Simon Gotch). Dawkins opened strongly, utilizing his amateur wrestling credentials to control English on the mat during the early exchanges.

However, the veteran experience of the Vaudevillains proved decisive. When the referee's attention was diverted by Gotch, English took the opportunity to rake Fulton's eyes, shifting momentum firmly in their favor. The Vaudevillains then executed their game plan flawlessly, making frequent tags and employing their unconventional offensive arsenal, including Gotch's signature joint manipulation techniques, to systematically break down the larger opponents.

The conclusion came when English made a blind tag while Fulton was engaged with Gotch. As Fulton turned around, the Vaudevillains connected with their finishing maneuver, the Whirling Dervish—a devastating uppercut and neckbreaker combination. English secured the pinfall victory in 5 minutes and 45 seconds, advancing in the tournament.

Backstage Segment: Champion Kevin Owens Issues Warning

Backstage interviewer Devin Taylor attempted to get NXT Champion Kevin Owens' thoughts on the evening's main event, beginning to ask which of the three potential challengers he preferred to face. Owens immediately interrupted her, dismissing the question as irrelevant.

The champion displayed complete confidence, declaring that Regal's "New Dawn" would be nothing more than a nightmare for whichever opponent emerged victorious. Owens systematically disparaged all three contenders: calling Sami Zayn "past his prime," labeling Rhyno "a dinosaur," and dismissing Hideo Itami as someone who had merely "one good match" the previous week. Owens proclaimed himself "the benchmark" of NXT and announced he would provide commentary during the main event to watch his potential challengers destroy one another, promising to finish whatever job remained at New Dawn.

Match 2: Becky Lynch vs. Blue Pants

This match showcased a dramatically transformed Becky Lynch, who had adopted a darker steampunk aesthetic and significantly more aggressive demeanor following her recent confrontation with Women's Champion Sasha Banks. Her opponent was the cult favorite Blue Pants (Leva Bates).

The match was completely one-sided—less a competitive contest than a systematic assault. Lynch dispensed with her typical crowd engagement, immediately taking Blue Pants down with a judo throw and immediately targeting her opponent's arm. Lynch repeatedly stomped on the limb while shouting directly at the camera, "Are you watching, Sasha?!" making her intentions crystal clear.

Lynch locked in her signature Dis-Arm-Her submission hold in the center of the ring, and Blue Pants had no choice but to tap out immediately at 2 minutes and 10 seconds. Even after the bell, Lynch refused to release the hold until the referee threatened to overturn the result. Lynch stood tall in the ring afterward, making a championship belt gesture to emphasize that the NXT Women's Championship represents her sole focus going forward.

Match 3: Tag Team Tournament Quarterfinal - Enzo Amore & Colin Cassady vs. The Mechanics

The charismatic duo of Enzo Amore and Colin Cassady, accompanied by Carmella, received a massive ovation from the Full Sail crowd. Enzo began his trademark microphone routine, but the no-nonsense team of Dash Wilder and Scott Dawson (collectively known as The Mechanics) attacked before the opening bell could even sound.

The Mechanics employed a brutal, methodical style throughout the contest, expertly cutting off the ring to prevent Enzo from making the tag to the seven-foot Cassady. Dawson specifically targeted Enzo's knee, at one point violently slamming it into the ring post. The fan favorites appeared in serious trouble.

Despite the punishment, Enzo managed to create separation by kicking Dawson away, allowing him to make a desperation tag to Big Cass. The big man exploded into action, cleaning house with authority. Cass connected with a massive side slam on Wilder and followed with a big boot to Dawson. He then tagged the limping Enzo back into the match. Cass launched Enzo off the top rope for their finishing move, the Rocket Launcher. Enzo hooked the leg and secured the pinfall at 7 minutes and 30 seconds, advancing Enzo and Cass in the tournament.

Main Event: Triple Threat #1 Contender's Match - Hideo Itami vs. Sami Zayn vs. Rhyno

With a championship opportunity at NXT New Dawn hanging in the balance, the three top contenders prepared for battle while Kevin Owens joined the commentary team to provide his characteristically snarky analysis.

When the bell rang, immediate chaos erupted. Zayn and Itami temporarily formed an alliance of necessity, working together to neutralize the dangerous powerhouse Rhyno. They connected with a synchronized double dropkick that sent the Man Beast tumbling to the outside. This left the two technically gifted competitors to showcase their skills, trading lightning-quick strikes in a mesmerizing display at the center of the ring.

The temporary stalemate shattered when Rhyno recovered and dragged Itami from the ring, violently throwing him into the steel steps. Rhyno re-entered and proceeded to dismantle Zayn with power-based offense, including a ring-shaking spinebuster that demonstrated his devastating strength advantage.

As the match progressed, all three competitors showed the effects of the grueling battle. Itami attempted to execute his Go To Sleep finisher on Zayn, but his back—damaged from Rhyno's earlier assault—gave out at the crucial moment. Zayn immediately capitalized, delivering a Blue Thunder Bomb. The referee counted one... two... but Rhyno broke up the pinfall attempt.

The finish came in dramatic fashion. Rhyno positioned himself for his signature Gore spear on Zayn and charged full speed. Zayn leapfrogged over the attack, and Rhyno's momentum carried him forward—directly into Hideo Itami, who was positioned on the ring apron. The Gore connected with devastating impact, sending Itami crashing from the apron into the barricade with a sickening collision.

Rhyno turned around, momentarily dazed from the unexpected impact. Zayn was waiting. He executed an Exploder Suplex, driving Rhyno directly into the turnbuckles. The Full Sail crowd erupted with thunderous "OLÉ!" chants as Zayn measured his opponent. Zayn charged across the ring and connected with the Helluva Kick—his devastating running boot to the face.

Zayn collapsed onto Rhyno for the cover. The referee counted one... two... three! Sami Zayn had won at 16 minutes and 45 seconds, earning the right to challenge Kevin Owens at NXT New Dawn.

Closing Angle: Former Best Friends Face Off

An exhausted but triumphant Sami Zayn sat up in the ring and pointed directly at the NXT Championship belt resting on the commentary table. Kevin Owens stood, removed his headset, and slowly made his way into the ring. Zayn pulled himself upright using the ropes, immediately ready for confrontation despite his exhaustion.

The two former best friends—now bitter enemies—stood face-to-face in the ring's center, tension filling the arena. Owens raised the championship belt between them. In response, Zayn defiantly slapped the title from Owens' hands, drawing an audible gasp from the crowd.

Rather than engaging in the brawl the audience anticipated, Owens simply smirked and laughed. He picked up his championship belt and backed out of the ring, denying the fans the physical confrontation they craved.

William Regal appeared on the arena's video screen to make it official: at NXT New Dawn, Kevin Owens would defend the NXT Championship against Sami Zayn.

The broadcast concluded with Zayn staring intensely at the departing champion while the "New Dawn" logo flashed across the screen, promising a highly personal championship showdown in the near future.

**CONFIRMED CARD**

NXT TAG TEAM TITLE TOURNAMENT BRACKET

WWE Be the Booker: The Heist of the Century

Welcome to "The New" Wrestling Smarks Forum!

I see that you are not currently registered on our forum. It only takes a second, and you can even login with your Facebook! If you would like to register now, pease click here: Register Once registered please introduce yourself in our introduction thread which can be found here: Introduction Board

Well-Known Member

Hall of Champions History Database​

WWE World Heavyweight Champion​

WWE Intercontinental Championship​

WWE United States Championship​

WWE Tag Team Championship​

WWE Divas Championship​

​

NXT Championship​

​

NXT Women's Championship​

Attachments

Well-Known Member

The Heist of the Century: A Look Back at the Night WrestleMania 31 Changed Everything​

An Undercard That Had No Business Being That Good​

A Blast from the Past and a Mainstream BOOM​

The Heist​

Well-Known Member

WWE.COM PREVIEW: MONDAY NIGHT RAW, MARCH 30, 2015​

Well-Known Member

Well-Known Member

Well-Known Member

NXT RECAP: APRIL 1, 2015​

OPENING SEGMENT: SAMI ZAYN RETURNS WITH FIRE​

MATCH 1: RHYNO VS. LOCAL COMPETITOR (Marcus Louis)​

BACKSTAGE SEGMENT: WILLIAM REGAL'S ANNOUNCEMENT​

MATCH 2: BAYLEY VS. EMMA​

BACKSTAGE INTERVIEW: TYLER BREEZE​

MATCH 3: JASON JORDAN VS. TYE DILLINGER​

MAIN EVENT: HIDEO ITAMI VS. TYLER BREEZE (2-OUT-OF-3 FALLS MATCH)​

FIRST FALL​

SECOND FALL​

THIRD FALL​

CLOSING SEGMENT​

Well-Known Member

Well-Known Member

​

​

SMACKDOWN RECAP: Chaos Reigns as Orton and Reigns Battle for Control of Extreme Rules​

Champion's Paranoia Sets the Stage for SmackDown Showdown​

Mizdow Declares Independence​

Neville Soars, Then Falls to Sheamus's Statement​

Lucha Dragons Earn Their Shot​

Cody Rhodes Embraces "The Nightmare"​

Paige Abandons AJ Lee, Charlotte Makes the Save​

Daniel Bryan and Dolph Ziggler Make History​

Rusev Destroys R-Truth After Extreme Rules Challenge​

The Dream Match: A WrestleMania Moment Revisited​

Main Event: Orton vs. Reigns Ends in Chaos​

Well-Known Member

Well-Known Member

Kalisto vs. Cesaro (w/ Tyson Kidd & Natalya)​

Randy Orton vs. The Big Show​

Brie Bella (w/ Nikki Bella) vs. Charlotte​

John Cena vs. Bad News Barrett (U.S. Open Challenge)​

Main Event - Special Guest Referee: Mr. McMahon​

Well-Known Member

Attachments

Hall of Champions History Database

WWE World Heavyweight Champion

WWE Intercontinental Championship

WWE United States Championship

WWE Tag Team Championship

WWE Divas Championship

NXT Championship

NXT Women's Championship

The Heist of the Century: A Look Back at the Night WrestleMania 31 Changed Everything

An Undercard That Had No Business Being That Good

A Blast from the Past and a Mainstream BOOM

The Heist

WWE.COM PREVIEW: MONDAY NIGHT RAW, MARCH 30, 2015

NXT RECAP: APRIL 1, 2015

OPENING SEGMENT: SAMI ZAYN RETURNS WITH FIRE

MATCH 1: RHYNO VS. LOCAL COMPETITOR (Marcus Louis)

BACKSTAGE SEGMENT: WILLIAM REGAL'S ANNOUNCEMENT

MATCH 2: BAYLEY VS. EMMA

BACKSTAGE INTERVIEW: TYLER BREEZE

MATCH 3: JASON JORDAN VS. TYE DILLINGER

MAIN EVENT: HIDEO ITAMI VS. TYLER BREEZE (2-OUT-OF-3 FALLS MATCH)

FIRST FALL

SECOND FALL

THIRD FALL

CLOSING SEGMENT

SMACKDOWN RECAP: Chaos Reigns as Orton and Reigns Battle for Control of Extreme Rules

Champion's Paranoia Sets the Stage for SmackDown Showdown

Mizdow Declares Independence

Neville Soars, Then Falls to Sheamus's Statement

Lucha Dragons Earn Their Shot

Cody Rhodes Embraces "The Nightmare"

Paige Abandons AJ Lee, Charlotte Makes the Save

Daniel Bryan and Dolph Ziggler Make History

Rusev Destroys R-Truth After Extreme Rules Challenge

The Dream Match: A WrestleMania Moment Revisited

Main Event: Orton vs. Reigns Ends in Chaos

Kalisto vs. Cesaro (w/ Tyson Kidd & Natalya)

Randy Orton vs. The Big Show

Brie Bella (w/ Nikki Bella) vs. Charlotte

John Cena vs. Bad News Barrett (U.S. Open Challenge)

Main Event - Special Guest Referee: Mr. McMahon